The Rogue's Gem
by MysticIris
Summary: Halloween night arrives in St. Canard and Quackerjack gets his hands on a mystical stone that can grant wishes. Will he be able to handle the consequences of his wish?
1. Of Wishes, Ghosts and Profits

**Of Wishes, Ghosts and Profits**

* * *

The day was Halloween and the residents of St. Canard, adults and children alike, were excited for the occasion. This excitement was not only shared by the common citizens, but also by a certain masked mallard and the rogue gallery of the city. Halloween was one of the most caper riden holidays of the year and it was a holiday most villains looked forward too, all except one.

Negaduck, St. Canard's public enemy number one, had no use for what he deemed a childish event for screaming kids. While he was never against spreading terror or discontent among the populace by ruining their merriment, he also wasn't interested in being part of what he referred to as the small time criminal element who wouldn't be able to pull off a large scale operation even if Darkwing Duck and all the police in the city dropped dead at once. Public enemy number one had an image to maintain and he was always looking at the big picture when it came to crimes.

In that spirit, Negaduck had called the other four members of the Fearsome Five. He wanted to plan another big heist and he decided that Halloween, a time when the police and Darkwing Dip would be otherwise occupied, was the best time to hash out the details. That, and it gave him the opportunity to ruin any fun plans the knobs might have come up with for the day. The mere thought of that made the mean-spirited mallard smile with hidden glee.

As the rest of the Fearsome Five filed into the warehouse hideout that they used for planning their next crime spree, their leader would have been disappointed to know only one of them had been miffed about their being summoned on a holiday. Megavolt might have been interested in saving some of the electronic Halloween decorations from slavery, but as he figured those decorations were only used against their will for a handful of days in one month. Thus, while their enslavement still bothered him, it wasn't nearly as bad as the appliances that were used against their will year round.

Bushroot, being the weed wimp that he was, hated Halloween and everything to do with it. The plant mutant couldn't stand scary movies, which were a staple for the season. Then there were the gory costumes and ugly masks that everybody wore to frighten the people around them, particularly him. Add in the otherworldly aspects of the day and the part where bratty kids showed up at your house and trampled all the innocent grass on your lawn and you had the makings for one day where a certain botanist would be sure to stay inside his well-lit Greenhouse.

Liquidator disliked the holiday as well, but for a completely different reason. The water dog was a salesman at heart and a good salesman always wanted to be making more money selling products than his competitors. Unfortunately, Halloween favored the sales of sugary beverages such as soda and alcohol over his fabulous bottled water. That alone irked him, not to mention that he felt the entire day was a bit too childish for his tastes.

Quackerjack, on the other hand, was still quite a kid at heart. All the costumed people running about in the streets made him feel much more normal in his jester attire. It was really the one day a year he could walk freely around St. Canard without suspicion or stares. The candy also helped considering that this clown had always had a sweet tooth. Though what he usually enjoyed most about the holiday was making toys for it. If there was one holiday that appreciated violent and gruesome toys, Halloween was it. It made the toymaker jubilant to find even a few days a year where his destructive creativity could come in handy.

However, this year was a little different. Quackerjack was still happy with the costumes, candy and toymaking, but his main interest for the day was in the supernatural. The jester believed in occult powers and beings, particularly after meeting Paddywhack, and he wanted to use this power to his advantage. He had recently come across information about a certain special gem stone that had been placed in the St. Canard Natural History Museum. Intrigued about the rumors surrounding the stone, he quickly hatched a plan to infiltrate the museum and test its powers for his own purposes.

Thus, it was with great impatience that Quackerjack endured Negaduck's taunts about his team mates incompetence and the deliberately slow pace for the planning of their next crime. The worked-up jester couldn't fathom how the other three villains could stand remaining so serious when they could be out enjoying the day and having so much fun. He was constantly fighting the urge to pull on the ends of his jester hat, stomp his feet and holler in frustration, knowing that none of those things were likely to sit well with their humorless boss. Patience had never been one of his virtues—not that he had many virtues to begin with.

Finally, after interminable hours of bickering over roles, being yelled at by their boss and general torment, Negaduck decided he'd had enough of the geek squad and that the plan would work better if just came up with the whole thing himself. Rolling his eyes and muttering about hopeless losers, he strode purposefully out of the double doors of the warehouse, slamming them behind him as he left. Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator just shrugged at the abrupt exit, more or less used to Negaduck's violent, (sometimes literally), mood swings and began heading for the doors themselves. They were stopped short by an exuberant Quackerjack, who somersaulted over them and landed in between them and the double doors.

"Ah, come on guys. What's your hurry? We just got here, so why don't we have some fun?"

"'Just got here?'" Megavolt repeated incredulously. "How is standing around a cramped, smelly warehouse for half a day just getting here?"

"Oh, you can be so literal sometimes." Quackerjack pouted at his best friend. "You know how facts like those bring everybody's day down, Sparky."

"Don't call me—"

"This alert business partner heard you say something about fun, is that correct?" Liquidator cut in, not wanting to hear another rant about a certain loathed nickname.

"Yeah, um, what sort of 'fun' do you have in mind?" Bushroot asked nervously wringing his leaves together. He knew that what the jester considered fun was not exactly compatible with his definition of the word.

"Why, Halloween-related fun, silly." Quackerjack answered the wary plant mutant as he cartwheeled over to a large, bulging brown sack. He untied the sack, then pulled a square object out of it. He threw it to the floor where it immediately sprung up into a ping pong table. Once the table was ready, Quackerjack lifted the heavy sack and poured its contents onto the surface. Candy of all types spilled over the table and on the floor, along with some painted flower pots featuring ghosts and pumpkins, lighted Halloween decorations and some bottles of flavored bottle water. Mixed in everywhere were some of the toymaker's own Halloween themed toys that were just as dangerous as they were ghastly.

"There, I think that's all of it. Since it is a holiday today, I thought I'd spread a little cheer to some of my favorite playmates." The jester spoke casually as he looked at his nails. He then noticed that none of them were moving towards the table. "Come on now, don't be shy! I got this stuff for you guys, after all. It's not going to bite you or at least, most of it won't." He added remembering the Cerberus stuffed toy he'd created with razor sharp teeth that would snap if anything got too close to the mouth.

Shrugging, Megavolt walked up to the table and picked a chewy caramel off it, unwrapped it and popped it in his mouth. Bushroot followed him hesitantly and carefully picked up the flower pot, not wanting to chance touching one of Quackerjack's toys. He turned it around in his hands and smiled as he thought that the design wasn't too scary. The plant mutant knew a few male plants who might like a less girly pot to live in. Liquidator sloshed up last and observed the products on the table in an appraising way. He turned his head towards the jester who was now rocking back and forth on his heels.

"It seems that our well-informed associate has brought us something that each of us would like." Quackerjack grinned and nodded, while the ex-salesman kept his face completely impassive. "Might this be a way of getting us on your good side as a way to curry favors for some later engagement?" The jester's grin completely faded as his compatriot read between the lines. He placed his hands on his hips as a response.

"Ah, come on, can't a guy buy some things for his best buddies without being accused of bribery?" Quackerjack asked with feigned innocence.

"Not when the buyer is a criminal." Liquidator replied glibly with an watery eyebrow raised in question. Both Bushroot and Megavolt shared his disbelief of the jester's sincerity and they let it show in their facial expressions.

"Okay, okay, you guys called my bluff." The jester's face changed from childish to maniacal almost instantly. "_Actually_, I was wondering if all of you would be interested in a Halloween caper of sorts."

"Define your terms and the rest of us may or may not sign on." The liquid dog proclaimed with the other two nodding along.

"Oh, you won't want to miss out on this particular game, I assure you!" Quackerjack gave a short excited bounce before he launched into his explanation. "You see, Halloween night always changes the rules of this reality game we all have to play with. It bends them and makes the impossible possible and I just love rule bending in my games!"

Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator all shared a mystified look wondering if their friend had gone a little crazier than normal. The botanist, uneasy about the prospect of messing with the laws of the universe, decided to voice his hesitation.

"Um...Quackerjack, while that sounds like fun and all, I kind of like the universe the way it is. You know, the whole part about having a planet full of life is just fine with me. I think we should just follow the rules we have."

"You always have played by the rules, Bushy." Quackerjack had pulled out his paddle ball and started playing with it while the other villain was talking. "That's why you always lose every game you play."

Bushroot crossed his arms and sulked at the comment as Megavolt snickered beside him.

"Seriously, though Quacky, Bushy here does have a point." The electric rat noted as the jester finally lost his paddle ball game. "How exactly do you intend to bend the rules of reality? I **know** for a fact you didn't get a degree in physics."

"And I know for a fact that you never went to college." The toymaker retorted with a raspberry. His best friend rolled his eyes at the gesture. "You sciency types always tend to make things complicated when they don't have to be. Even if I don't have some fancy, rocket science degree I can still read and I found the perfect ace to put up my sleeve for my genius plot. It's right here in this magazine!"

Quackerjack pulled out a rolled up magazine from the puffy sleeve on his right side and displayed it proudly for his teammates to see. The three of them came closer and when they saw the title, they all truly thought that the clown had to be playing a joke on them.

"You're ingenious plot is based off of something you found in 'The St. Canard Natural History Musuem' magazine?'" Bushroot asked in complete disbelief. Their crazy friend was not exactly known for taking an interest in reading anything serious. That and the fact that a museum was one of the last places on Earth that the mutant scientist could imagine the toymaker setting foot in made Bushroot a tad suspicious.

"This puzzled compatriot would like to know if their spokesman realizes that the book he's holding is somewhat educational and has nothing to do with comics or brightly colored pictures." Liquidator observed with his head tilted to one side, sharing the same doubts about this new development that his plant-loving associate did.

"You guys are so mean." Quackerjack said with a big, sad pout, which was immediately replaced with a big, wide grin. He jumped in between Liquidator and Bushroot and put his arms around their shoulders. "That's why I like you so much. You two are right, of course, about a museum being a dull, boring place that I would normally never, ever, ever want to go to, but with a little imagination even the most monotonous of places can turn into a fun place to play."

"Cut the antics, Quacky." Megavolt said in annoyance. "Just tell us what's in this museum that makes you want to go there."

Quackerjack abruptly let go of the two other villains and did a twirl so that he was positioned in front of the group again. He flipped the magazine to the page he wanted and presented it for the others to look over.

"This, my dear friends, is what makes me want to go there!" The toymaker pointed to the title of the page, which read 'Myths and Legends Exhibit.' "Specifically, this chinta-whosiwhatsits thing."

"Yeah, that's real specific all right." Bushroot muttered sarcastically under his breath. Quackerjack either didn't hear the comment or he chose to ignore it.

"It's a green gem that was said to come from the Far East. Supposedly gems like these were used by the enlightened people of the civilization to give them powers or grant wishes. It's the latter aspect that I am most interested in."

"Hang on there, chuckles." Megavolt put in as he scanned the page in front of him. "You said this mystic jewel is used by 'enlightened' people. Why in the world would this fancy stone want to give you anything you asked for? You don't really fit in the category of the enlightenment as I understand it."

"Well, this particular gem doesn't exactly follow the typical rules of enlightenment." Quackerjack spoke in a sneaky voice with mirth sparkling in his eyes. "The nickname for this stone is 'The Rogue's Gem' because it only grants wishes of those with ill-intent. In fact, this pretty little gem was smashed up centuries ago after the civilians declared it an evil thing that should never be used again. They thought if they broke it, then all the wishes and powers the thing had granted would be reversed. Fortunately for me, they broke it into big enough pieces so that the archeologists could rebuild the gem.

"Of course, those dull research-types think the whole thing is just one big folk tale and that the gem is completely harmless. They could be right or they could just be a bunch of depressing sticks-in-the-mud with no imagination. Since I play to win and consider myself a risk-taker, I'm going to go with door number two. I think this jewel may indeed be able to grant a wish of mine and I figured that I'd even my odds a bit by planning this heist on Halloween. After all, it is the holiday where everything occult in nature is supposed to happen.

"So, this is where you guys get to play a part! That museum is huge and has a lot of security guards and cameras. If anything is going to happen, I'm going to need the three of you to help me sneak into the place without notice, knock out those pesky guards and short-out the security cameras. " He rolled the magazine back up and stuck it up his sleeve as he looked at each of his teammates' faces with a wide grin. "So, what do you guys think?"

"Let me see if this discriminating consumer has this right." Liquidator started letting some of his disapproval show in his voice. "You want the three of us to help you break into a museum get this mystical gem stone that supposedly grants wishes so that you can use it." Quackerjack nodded exuberantly causing the aqua dog to frown. "The Liquidator does not work for free or for the profit of others unless he somehow profits himself."

"Even if it's for one of your best buddies?" The jester gave him the best childish, pleading look he could muster. It had no affect on the ex-salesman who continued to frown and crossed his arms over his chest. Knowing that he wouldn't win against the dog, he turned to the other two villains who looked equally unimpressed.

"No offense, but the entire scheme is sketchy at best." Bushroot said with a shrug.

"Besides, if there's nothing in it for us then there's no reason we should help you." Megavolt echoed Liquidator as he watched the toymaker pulled the magazine back out and frantically flipped through the pages.

"I think I can fix that little snag. Where did I see...Ah! Here it is!" Quackerjack was now displaying a page with pictures of coins on it. "There's another exhibit going on called 'The Evolution of Money.' As you all know, money didn't use to be these boring scraps of paper that only have value because somebody in the government says it does. Money used to be made into coins, namely _gold_ and _silver_ coins." The clown emphasized the last part knowing it would get the others attention. "The museum is supposed to be showcasing some thousand different types of coins from all over the world, not to mention a few gold bars and pricey jewels."

"Well, the Liquidator has been wanting to increase his gold investments." The water canine replied with a hand under his chin.

"I could use a few more funds in my battle for light bulb liberation..." Megavolt muttered, thinking it over.

"Then, you two will do it?" Quackerjack inquired as he bounced in place. When the two nodded he did a flip to show his enthusiasm. When he landed, he was grinning widely and turned to the one person in the room who hadn't said anything yet.

"What about you, Bushy?" Quackerjack asked Bushroot who seemed to be wringing his leaves a bit. "Are you in for some Halloween play time?"

"Oh, well, I mean, I don't know..." He replied in a hesitant voice, finally meeting Quackerjack's beady black eyes with his worried blue ones. "I-I guess I'm just concerned about this whole wishing thing. Say it does work and you can wish for something to happen...well, what if that something you wish for goes wrong? What if it ends up backfiring and all of us turn into something unpleasant, like toads or bugs and have to live the rest of our days like that!" He shook his head and shivered at the thought. "It all sounds to good to be true to me."

Quackerjack rolled his eyes and sighed theatrically. "Bushy, Bushy, Bushy, you would be so much more fun if you used those powers of yours to grow a backbone." The remark made the plant mutant ball his fists in anger at being mocked. "If you want to be safe and _boring_, you can stay right here in this warehouse **alone**."

The jester turned on his heel and smiled to himself as he slowly walked towards the double doors hoping the others would take his not-so-subtle hint and play along. He wasn't disappointed as a moment later, Megavolt joined the fun.

"Yeah and it's almost dark outside." The electric rat spoke nonchalantly as he followed the toymaker towards the exit. "Oh and just so you know, I liberated all the light bulbs in this warehouse already. The ghosts are sure to appreciate it when they start haunting this dark, dank, and disgusting shack. After all, this is their night to party."

Bushroot tried to contain himself, but a few shivers managed to run across his slender frame anyway. "G-G-Ghosts?" His voice was a few pitches higher than it normally was. Realizing this, he took a deep breath to calm himself and return his voice to normal. "Come on. There's no such thing, right?"

"Maybe. Maybe not." Megavolt stated over his shoulder in a casual way. "If you stayed here by yourself, I'm sure you'd find out."

"Hmm, yes, that could be a profitable venture!" Liquidator added in as he put his arm around the plant duck's shoulders. He panned his hand from left to right as he continued to explain his idea. "If you, Reginald Bushroot, stay here and get verifiable proof that there are indeed ghosts in the world, then you could be filthy rich. Such a discovery could make our local plant manager a millionaire!"

"Well, if you're so interested in it, that means you'll stay with me, right?" Bushroot said in a small, hopeful voice."

"By no means." Liquidator replied lightly. "The Liquidator has not signed his name on the X on the contract that says he will be a ghost hunter for a night. He can assure you that he doesn't believe in things that are not tangible." He removed his arm from Bushroot's shoulder's and started sloshing towards the doors. "The Liquidator **does** believe in gold coins, however, and thus his loyalty lies with his comrades who are seeking real, solid, profit. He wishes you well in your stay at the Ghost Inc. Warehouse and will be taking his leave."

All three villains exited the warehouse together and made their way down the dirt road back into the city. Quackerjack gave Megavolt and Liquidator a knowing grin, which they both returned. The jester placed his hands behind his back and started counting.

"One." He heard the doors of the warehouse open again. "Two." The sound of pounding feet could be heard behind them. "Three." A splash sounded in the disappearing daylight as Bushroot ran up behind Liquidator and clung to his back, quivering from the thought of being left behind with undead spooks.

"Change your mind?" Megavolt asked slyly.

Bushroot scowled at his tone and made a hasty retort. "I-I just didn't want to miss out on all the, uh, fun that's all."

"Or the loot?" Liquidator advised in order to give his friend another excuse.

"Uh, yeah, that too."

"Wouldn't worry about missing out, Bushy." Quackerjack said as he pulled out a pogo stick. "Fun is never in short supply when I'm around. Now, let's get to that museum. It's play time!"

The signature phrase was followed by cacophonous laughter as the toymaker bounced down the street. His other three companions shrugged at his antics and went after him.

* * *

It took about an hour and a half to get back into St. Canard and to the Natural History Museum, by which time it was quite dark. Between the four of them, it was piece of cake to take out the cameras and the guards. Megavolt took care of shorting out the place, while Bushroot tied up a few guards with his plants, Liquidator washed out a few more and Quackerjack's exploding bouncy balls took care of the rest. With the coast clear, the four of them made their way to the myths and legends exhibit.

It was one of the newer events for the museum and it didn't take them long to find the location. The four of them split up in order to find the gem and after a few minutes of searching, Bushroot finally found what they had come to get.

"Quackerjack," Bushroot called out to get the clown's attention, "I think this is what you're looking for."

Quackerjack, Megavolt and Liquidator all made their way over to the pedestal the botanist was standing by. There was a flat, rectangular, glowing green gem that had gold plating on the bottom inside the glass case. From the look of it, the toymaker guessed that it could have been used as some type of jewelry back in its time. Megavolt lit his finger with a spark of electricity to provide some light and found the inscription for the stone they were looking at.

"'Rogue's Gem.' This is the one Quacky, no doubt about it."

Quackerjack did a quick jump in the air and immediately worked to remove the glass casing from around the jewel. He took out one of his Cerberus toys and placed its mouth against the glass. The dog drew its head back, showing its razor sharp teeth, and took a big bite out of the case. Patting the dog toy affectionately, the jester placed it on the floor and stuck his arm through the hole in the glass. He picked up the gem and pulled it out without a hitch.

"Success!" The toymaker shouted as he bounced up and down in delight.

"Most impressive." Liquidator said in a purposefully neutral tone. "Well, now that we have held up our end of the deal and helped you get your wishing stone, the Liquidator believes it is time to increase our profit margins."

"You guys go ahead." The large-billed duck replied as he stared at the glowing jewel in his hand. "I'm going to stay here and think of what to wish for."

"Suit yourself." Megavolt said as he joined the ex-salesman in trying to find the money exhibit. Bushroot lingered for a moment, giving the jester a hesitant look, before he trotted along to join the others.

Once they had left, Quackerjack did a small gleeful jump in the air as he held the small, green gem in his hand. This gem was said to grant one wish to any person of ill-intent who managed to get a hold of it. He knew it might just be a fairy tale, but if it wasn't...

_Oh, think of the possibilities. _Quackerjack bounced in place as he thought of everything he wanted to wish for. _I could wish to have the first toy ever made. No, no that's not good enough. Or I could wish for my toys to be the biggest sellers world wide. Or I could wish to __**own**__ every toy store in the world. And...oh even better, I can wish Whiffle Boy out of existence. _His greedy smile widened at the growing possibilities. _Hmm...the eradication of Whiffle Boy...to be or not to be, that is the question._

Quackerjack was so lost in thought that he was quite startled when a familiar voice bellowed out its favorite catch phrase right behind him.

"I am the terror that flaps in the night! I am the hammer that chips away at your profits. I am Darkwing Duck!"

"Ooohhhh!" The jester pulled down his hat in irritation as he whined pathetically. Still caught up in the play in his head, he spoke without thinking. "Darkwing Duck, the ever arrogant pest. I wish you had never came to be!"

Before Darkwing could come up with a witty retort, the jewel in Quackerjack's right hand began to shine with a sharp light. The jester stared at it in shock, realizing what he had just said. He shook his head in protest, the bells on his hat jingling violently.

"No, no no!" He whined again, stomping his foot with each word. "That was a mistake! It's not my—"

He never got a chance to finish as the light enveloped the whole room, completely blinding him. The colorfully clad duck closed his eyes against the intense light, feeling waves of disorientation wash over him. After a moment, the light rescinded and Quackerjack was able to open his eyes again. He was lying on the floor of the museum, only it looked nothing like the museum he had just robbed..

Sitting up, he noticed that the building he had been in previously was now much more torn up then it used to be. The ceiling had crumbled in at some parts, all the exhibits had been looted, all the windows were smashed in and some of the walls were decaying. Looking up at the sky, he could see that it was daylight outside.

"What kind of game is this?" He asked to no one in particular. The sentence echoed eerily through the empty building. Quackerjack suddenly remembered the Rogue's Gem and, numbly realized that it was no longer in his hand. He got to his feet and started searching around him, but quickly concluded that it was no use. The gem was gone.

* * *

Author's Note: *Sigh* I meant to get this one done a lot sooner than this. Oh, well. At least I got it posted today. R&R if you like the story so far. Feedback is always appreciated. I know it's early, but Happy Halloween everybody. Have a good one!


	2. Growing Thorns

**Growing Thorns**

* * *

Disclaimer: Quackerjack and other characters in the Darkwing universe are the property of Tad Stones and the Disney Company. Dr. Thornroot is a character created by Jamcub and DarkwingSnark from DeviantArt. I asked Jamcub's permission to use her character a while back before I started writing this story. Now, with all that mumbo jumbo out of the way, enjoy.

* * *

Quackerjack stood up in the empty, dilapidated museum and brushed himself off. The disorientation had finally gone away and, once the initial shock had worn off, the clown found himself feeling completely exuberant. He hadn't meant to wish for what he did, but at the same time he wasn't sorry about it. In fact, he was overjoyed. He laughed maniacally as he did a couple of mid-air flips.

"Quackerjack, you insane genius, you've done it!" The large billed mallard congratulated himself as he landed with no problem. "You, the greatest toymaker in all of St. Canard, have gotten rid of Darkwing Duck. The night time nuisance can no longer spoil my fun because there's no play time for him anymore! Oh, this is wonderful, isn't it Mr. Banana Brain?"

"Of course, it's a whole new world." The high pitched stuffed doll replied back in his given voice. "They'll be no one to tell us no or where to go. Why don't we check it out, Scout?"

"You're right!" He slapped a hand against his face, wondering why he was still standing around this boring place when he could be out exploring. "Good thinking there, old pal. No wonder you're my favorite." He patted the banana shaped doll on the head before putting him back in his pocket. The jester skipped his way over to the front of the building, but instead of using the front doors, he just went through one of the big holes by the side of the door where the wall had been knocked out. Feeling completely at ease, Quackerjack got on to the sidewalk and started walking down the street.

The street he was on was surrounded by buildings that looked just as rundown and abandoned as the museum he had arrived in. Shrugging and thinking he must have landed in the bad side of town, he went a ways down the uneven sidewalk and turned onto the first street that showed signs of civilians. He took big strides, absolutely gleeful at being out in broad daylight without anyone trying to stop him. He could never do this when Darkwing Dunce was around, but now no one was even giving him a funny look as he went past them in his full, red-purple costumed attire. In fact, Quackerjack noticed belatedly, no one was looking at him at all. They were all staring fixedly at the ground below them as they strode briskly down the street, wearing muted colors like gray, brown, and black. When one of them did look up and spot him, they quickly turned away, as if drawing back from unwanted attention.

Frowning at the skittishness, he stopped by a nearby bus bench and took in his surroundings. All the buildings in this section looked decently maintained, though some of the colors were beginning to fade. It certainly didn't seem like anything had been looted lately and he wasn't seeing any signs of petty criminals lurking in the alley ways to mug somebody. He couldn't figure out why everyone was so hurried and downtrodden.

His bells jiggled behind him as he shook his head at how boring all these people were. All the people who were passing by glanced at him in surprise before turning to go on their way again. The sound seemed unusually loud to the jester and that's when he realized that everyone was silent. No one was stopping to talk to one another and other than the sound of his bells, the only sound that could be heard was the padding of feet. The jester crossed his arms in annoyance and stuck out his tongue in disgust.

_Phooey! What a bunch of total bores! It's like they're scared of their own shadow. _He thought disparagingly as he turned around to face the bus bench. It had some paid slogan on it from the mayor of St. Canard. The mayor was a middle aged canine, with brown fur, thick black hair that was stylishly slicked back, beady black eyes and a winning smile. He was wearing a yellow dress shirt, with a brown jacket and blue tie. A small part of Quackerjack's mind said that this particular canine looked familiar to him, but he was too agitated to concentrate on it. He was surrounded by people who were no fun at all and when he wasn't having fun, he always got irrationally upset. When he was in that state, it was impossible for him to keep a serious train of thought together for long.

_Oh, I guess I'll just have to search for some new play mates. Sheesh, it's like all of St. Canard got replaced with a bunch of Bushroots._ The unkind thought immediately perked the clown up and he began bouncing in place. _That's right! Bushy and the others have to be around here somewhere. They can't be as dull as all of these goody-goodies, especially now that Darkwing's gone. _

Feeling absolutely perky again, the jester tried to get a grip on his bearings. After finding a street sign, he realized that he was only a few miles away from the plant duck's Greenhouse. If he started now, he could make it there just before dark. Cheerfully whistling to himself, he started heading towards the greenhouse and was about to activate the springs on the bottom of his clown shoes to make things easier for himself, when a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

The clown looked over said shoulder to see a short mouse woman with light fur and blue eyes. Her blond hair was hidden by the black hood from her jacket and the rest of her suit was solid gray. She continued to grip his shoulder with her delicate fingers as anxiety became clear in her posture.

"Sir," she spoke in a shrill tone of voice, "what do you think you're doing? You can't go that way!"

"Why not?" Quackerjack asked as he spun around on his heel to face her. The mouse woman's hand was wrenched off of him when he did this and she drew it back towards her in uncertainty.

"You mean you don't know?" She questioned incredulously. "You don't know who lives just a few miles away from here?"

"Well, of course I do." The clown said happily. "Dr. Reginald Bushroot, the mutant plant scientist, lives in a Greenhouse just down this way. I was just on my way to see him, actually."

This answer led to the mouse woman's mouth hanging open slightly. Her expression wavered between shock and disbelief as Quackerjack continued grinning widely at her.

"You know," he said trying to fill the period of silence that had fallen between us, "if you want to play guessing games with me, I'm all for it, but you really should ask some harder questions. That last one was far too easy."

The mouse woman just shook her head at him and stared at him with a look that said she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Are you mad?" She couldn't keep the question to herself any longer. The colorfully clad mallard let out a whooping laugh, which caused her to take a step back.

"Quite." He said once he had finally settled down. Again, he had struck the mouse woman speechless, which only made his big grin get wider. He had forgotten how fun it could be to converse with normal people. "Too bad you had to ask me another easy question. If it had been a bit harder, I might have stuck around for another round. As it is, it's getting late and I wouldn't want to be late for my play date." He activated the springs on his clown shoes and heartily bounced into the air. He waved back at the stunned mouse woman who seemed to be trying to catch him. "Todaloo, my dear!"

"Wait!" She cried out to him with her hand outstretched, but it was no use. Quackerjack's springs made him far too fast for her to stop. The jester looked forward and pushed the woman from his mind as he headed to Bushroot's Greenhouse.

_I wonder what Bushy will be like now that Darkwing is gone?_ Conversations he had with Bushroot about his mutation, his revenge plot and the woman he tried to turn into his own personal flower girl passed through his mind as he got closer to the Greenhouse. _Maybe old Bush-Brain actually succeeded and turned that lab girl he was crushing on into his flower girl. Who knows, with a girlfriend around he might be a little less whiny and wimpy. He might even be more up for playing my sort of games. _

He continued casually bouncing along the streets, as if this were a perfectly normal thing to do, when he saw something ahead that made him stop short. He flipped backwards abruptly and did a few bounces in place to halt his momentum. As he secured the springs on his clown shoes, he took a closer look at the scene ahead of him. Bushroot's Greenhouse was still a couple miles uphill, but giant dark green vines had grown down from the property. Some of the vines were large, thick and ended right by the start of the hill. Others had woven themselves around lamp posts, abandoned cars and buildings. The vines around the lamp posts and some of the buildings were sporting pink flowers with yellow specks dotting the inside of them. Occasionally, the jester thought he saw one move twitch a bit, as if it were alive.

"Wow, Bushy's definitely made some gains in the real estate department." Quackerjack commented to himself with a big smile. "I guess the market place has really opened up to villains in this city." He could think of a certain water dog who must be quite happy with this development "Oh, I can't wait to get my share of the industry! Think of all the toy stores I can take over!"

"One thing at a time, Mime." Mr. Banana Brian surfaced from his pocket and put some perspective on his wandering thoughts. "We'd better visit Bushy before we get sidetracked."

"Logical as always, Mr. Banana Brain." The clown leaned in to whisper something to his doll. "Although, between you and me, if Bushy's still just a lonesome wall flower, then it will be a very short visit." With that in the confidence of his closest ally, he pressed the doll back down into his pocket.

Unperturbed by the overgrown vines and other plant life, Quackerjack climbed up the hill to see one of his fellow villains. The childish duck even made a game of hop scotch for himself by jumping from one hole to another inbetween the twisting vines. Occasionally, he thought he saw a flicker of movement out of the corner of his beady black eyes, but he was having far too much fun to look into the matter. In no time, he had reached a small dirt path that was clear of plant life and led straight to the front entrance of the Greenhouse.

Whistling between his two buck teeth, he glanced back and forth, hoping to spot the building's owner. Spontaneously, he leaped into the air to get a better look at his surroundings and let out a shout of success. To the right of the Greenhouse, he spotted a stalk skinny green figure with brown roots raking the dirt ground in front of him. Quackerjack did a few flips and ended up right behind the mutant plant duck. The other villain heard a noise behind him and whirled around to see what it was, but before he could say anything, the clown gave him a big hug.

"Bushy!" He said as he gave the plant mutant a tight squeeze. "It's good to see you again."

"Have we met?" The toymaker felt Bushroot stiffen up in his grasp. Something about the botanist's voice also sounded off to him. It was deeper than it had been and far firmer. Letting go, Quackerjack finally took a moment to examine the other villain and found himself quite taken aback.

"Wow, Bushy, what's with the make over?" Quackerjack said in a flippant manner, although deep down, he had to admit that what he was seeing made him feel a little uneasy. Bushroot was the same height as he had been, with the same color of stalk and general shape, but the similarities with the previous version ended there. The one in this new world had red petal hair, with orange petals in the center of it, surrounding his now red anthers. His eyes were a matching red with an orange film over them that stared at the world in a way that showed outright contempt. His small beak had two fangs coming down from either sides of it and he had razor back leaves lining his back. He had spikes growing out of his knees and toes. He was also a little more muscular in the chest area, at least as far as the clown could tell.

"What do you keep calling me that?" The question was said in a quiet manner, though there was an underlying tone of warning to it.

"Keep calling you what?" Quackerjack repeated childishly as he walked around the back of the mad scientist to fiddle with some of his back leaf razors. "Don't tell me you've become hard of hearing too! I mean, I know I said I wanted you to grow a backbone, but I didn't expect you to make all these other changes too. I'm not sure what to think of them really." He circled around the plant doctor once more before coming to a halt in front of him, studying him with a hand under his chin. "It's almost like you need something to pull the look together."

The red eyed mutant in front of him opened his beak to say something, but the jester's exuberant outburst kept him from talking.

"I know! Oh, it's so perfect! It is still Halloween today, right?" The green duck in front of him nodded mutely. "Great! If I make you a tuxedo, you'll be the perfect Count Dracula. The red eyes will certainly go with the idea and those fangs of yours will really be a handy addition to the outfit. So, what do you think?" Quackerjack stared at the other duck eagerly. In return, he merely stared back at him, blinking every once in a while, with an impassive expression on his face.

"Are you mad?" The half-plant half-duck questioned after a very long moment of silence.

The clown tilted his head at the inquiry, making the bells on his hat jingle. "Is that the question of the day or something?"

"Pardon me?" The other duck replied back in a humorless tone and with a red eyebrow raised.

"Oh, nothing." Quackerjack shook his head and put a big grin on his face. Things just seemed too serious and he wanted to lighten the mood. "Besides, you've known me for years now. You should know the answer to that question without even having to ask."

The toymaker then attempted to put an arm around the plant duck's shoulders. The green duck shrugged off the move, with a scowl on his face. Quackerjack retracted his arm, now feeling a bit put off by the other villain's attitude.

"Let me make something very clear to you. I have no idea what you're talking about. I have never met you before in my life."

The jester blinked at his team mate's words, then gave a theatrical sigh. "Boy, Bushy, you have never been good at jokes, but that one was just lame. It's not even remotely funny."

"Stop calling me that!" The plant duck hissed back at him. The clown ignored the statement and decided to elaborate.

"Wow, maybe all this plant mutation surgery has messed with your head a little." He reached up and tousled the mutant's red orange petal hair until the other villain knocked his hand away. "Anyway, we were both solo bad guys for a while until we formed a team. The Fearsome Five is our name, we're run by Negaduck and—"

"Nega-who?" The botanist replied with all seriousness. "I've never heard of him or this so called team he runs. Obviously, if I don't know anything about him, then I have never worked for him. It would then follow that when I say I have no idea who you are, I'm telling the truth."

Quackerjack closed his mouth, the smile fading from his beak. He tilted his head in disbelief, wishing that what he had heard was not true. Yet, he knew that the old Bushroot could never tell a good lie if his life depended on it and this version seemed far too severe to be lying to him. This wasn't something the jester had considered after he made his wish. He figured that everyone he had known before the rogue's gem heist would know him now. He had thought the only rule that had changed was that Darkwing had never come to be...

That's when it dawned on him. _Darkwing never came to be! Of course! I had __**heard**__ of Bushroot before I joined the Fearsome Five, but it wasn't until the group formed that I actually met and worked with him. While the takeover of the city was one of the main reasons for our team up, the other reason, the one that connected all of us, was our hatred for Darkwing Duck. That do-gooder always spoiled our schemes and we thought if we came together we could beat him,_ _but now that he's gone..._

"Logic and common sense must be hard to accept for a person like you," the green mallard said with a sneer as he picked up the rake he had been using and rested it against his right shoulder, "but, surprisingly enough, I have better things to do with my time then trade words with a gawking moron in a clown costume."

His train of thought broken, Quackerjack placed his hands on his hips in affront. They may not know each other anymore, but he did have a villainous image to maintain and he wasn't going to take that last bit lying down.

"Oh and do tell me what the overgrown petunia does have time for. Strolling through your Greenhouse for the thousandth time?" He clasped his hands together by his face and batted his eye lids in a feminine manner. "Or perhaps another experiment with flowers so that there will finally be a bride for poor lonely Bushy? Or—"

Quackerjack's words were stopped as he felt searing pain cut across his left arm before he was knocked to the ground. The toymaker cried out as he rolled a little ways down the hill. When his momentum stopped, he sat up on the dirt path he was standing on and examined his aching arm. Six jagged cuts had been sliced into it and small rivulets of blood were dribbling down his arm. Glancing up in shock, he saw that the cuts had been made by the jagged edges of the rake the mutant plant duck carried. He glared back at the colorfully clad duck who was sitting on the ground, a snarl on his beak.

"Don't call me Bushroot!" The plant duck clearly emphasized each word as he spat them out. The green duck straightened up and made authority clear in his posture. His red eyes showed nothing but contempt and his voice was extremely cold. "I am Dr. Thornroot."

"Thornroot?" Quackerjack repeated as if he were in a daze. He was clutching his arm and staring back into the red eyes feeling immobile.

"Now who's hard of hearing?" Thornroot said snidely. "Yes, Thornroot. I'm a mutant plant scientist who is avoided by the rest of St. Canard. I can't recall the last time I've had a willing visitor" His beak curled up slightly, showing off his fangs as he rested his rake back on his right shoulder. "I don't think I would have to explain why that would be."

Rustling noises behind the jester caught his attention and he realized that something was being summoned his way. Quickly getting to his feet, ignoring the pain in his arm, he put both hands out in front of him and began backing away slowly.

"Right. Got it. You only like solitary games. Plants only kind of games. Well, I wouldn't want to spoil your fun, so I'll just be going now."

Abruptly, he turned on his heel and made a run for it, but a giant vine rose from the ground blocking his path. The colorfully clad duck slammed into it at full speed and landed back on the dirt path with the wind knocked out of him. When he opened his eyes, he saw that the green mallard was leaning over him with his rake in his hands.

"Oh, no, I think you should stay." There was a cruel grin on his beak as he spoke the words. A tinge of fear went up Quackerjack's spine as he looked up at the red eyes staring down at him. "After all, it's not every day that a willing body waltzes up to my front door."

The jester heard slow, plodding footsteps approaching him and Dr. Thornroot. Knowing that the plant doctor was summoning something to him, his scattered mind tried to come up with a plan to get him out of this mess. Looking back up at the mutant scientist, he finally pinpointed what it was about the red eyes that were so unsettling. He saw something in those eyes that he knew all too well. It was the glint of insanity.

"Let me tell you a little bit more about Dr. Bushroot and then maybe you'll understand what I mean." Dr. Thornroot elaborated as he saw the anxious expression on the other duck's face. He wanted to drag out the others agony as much as possible. "You see, Dr. Bushroot, whom you seem to have heard of, was a pathetic pansy who was shunned because he tried to make the world a better place. After he took his rightful revenge on those who wronged him, he became a total outcast who was utterly lonely, but too weak to do anything to fix it. So, the plant doctor sat alone in his Greenhouse,night after night, day after day, wallowing in self pity.

"When he finally got tired of feeling sorry for himself, he experimented with a new formula and gained the strength to overcome his previous emotional weaknesses. A complete loser was transformed into a powerful mutant in me, Dr. Thornroot and I came up with the perfect solution to the problem that had plagued my predecessor. I decided that if people didn't want anything to do with me because of my mutation, then I would build my own family of mutant plant creatures—from their dead bodies, no less!"

He smirked at his own genius and raised the sharp edged rake above his head.

"A reconstructed plant clown would certainly be a colorful addition to my collection. You may not have amused me, but I'm sure some of the other slower creations will enjoy your tricks. Even dead things need a good laugh now and then."

Thornroot swung his rake down fast, aiming for Quackerjack's midsection. The jester, waiting for the move, rolled away at the right moment and escaped the blow. Getting on his feet, he activated the springs on his shoes and bounced over the large vine that had stopped him before. His beady black eyes widened in horror as he saw the source of the noise he'd heard earlier. About twenty-some plant creatures were making their way towards him, of all different shapes and sizes. There were species of rats, ducks, dogs, pigs and even the occasional bear, with stitches present all over their bodies. Some were only children, while others looked quite old, but they all had one thing in common—they were all the living dead.

"I see you've met some of my family." Thornroot spoke calmly to Quackerjack who was bouncing in place, trying to find the best path to get away from the oncoming mutant swarm. "It would be a shame if you didn't become part of it."

"Well, let's just say becoming a rotting vegetable doesn't sound like any fun to me." He looked behind him and blew a raspberry at the other villain, who frowned in reply.

"Fun or not, you don't have a choice." Thornroot snapped back before calling out to his creations. "All right, boys! Bring our new guest back to me!"

The plant creatures' heads all gave a bit of a jerk at the command and their yellow eyes focused on Quackerjack. The toymaker bounced in place a few more times to get his opponents a bit closer. When they were finally at the range he wanted, he bounced high into the air with his signature laugh.

"It's play time!" He shouted to the undead creatures as he touched the shoulders of the taller bear creature, who had part of his skin made up of coconut shells along with giant thorns for claws, that was lumbering towards him. "And the name of the game is 'leap frog.'"

As he said it, he propelled himself over the bear plant creature and landed behind him with ease. Then he did a long bounce over a plant dog construction and a plant rat construction, landing on his hands and flipping back on his springs. A few bounces later, a small plant duck child construct with evergreen twigs making up his messy hair, tried to grab him. He easily touched the lad's shoulders and leap frogged over him.

Choosing his path carefully, bouncing inbetween the holes the vines left, Quackerjack got some distance between himself and his pursuers. He was thankful at that moment that the mutant family of Thornroot's wasn't particularly fast. It gave him an edge in this getaway game he was playing. Just as he allowed himself a small smile, the vines beneath him came to life in an attempt to grab him or bar his way.

"No fair!" Quackerjack whined at this new ploy by his opponent. He dodged two vines that lunged for him, but one of them managed to catch his ankle and he fell. The vines moved in to snatch him up in their grasp, but the agile clown somersaulted away and kept himself from being caught. He immediately and quite literally, sprung back into action. He used a vine that was moving in the air from his left to bounce off of, then did the same to one on his right and used one foot to bounce off of one that was right in front of him.

Thinking he might just be lucky enough to get away, his heart sank as he saw the vines a few feet away intertwining themselves and forming an impassible wall that he couldn't jump over. They still hadn't completely finished and there was a gap in the middle of it. He bounced as fast as he could, hoping he could reach it in time. The hole had almost closed when Quackerjack took a giant leap and managed to dive through. He felt the vines rub against both his sides as he slid through the closing gap. He hit the ground with a thud,but got right back on his feet.

Not wanting to give away the small advantage he had, he started moving again as swiftly as he could. Bouncing steadily, he made his way down the hill and felt a bit of relief as the end of the vines came in sight. Just as he was about to reach it, something wrapped around his waist and stopped him in mid-bounce. Looking behind him, he realized that one of Thornroot's undead plant creatures had managed to catch him. This one was a burly looking duck, who reminded the jester of some of the low class criminal he had seen in the old St. Canard. His feathers had been replaced by long, thin leaves and he had bark around his stomach that seemed to be holding him together. Although he was made of a variety of plant life, it couldn't mask the smell of rot that was right beneath the surface. Quackerjack had to force himself not to gag as he struggled fiercely with his captor.

Quackerjack noticed something move out of the corner of his eye and he glanced over to see what it was. A gnarly old tree was moving its limbs and it was currently growing a long, thin branch out of one of them. When it had reached a reasonable length, the tree broke it off and aimed in his direction. He belatedly realized that the tree had just made itself a spear and was intending to throw it at him.

Seeing an opportunity, the toymaker got the arms of the plant creature over his head and hurled the unfortunate creature right into the path of the oncoming spear. The tree spear skewered the helpless plant mutant, right through his middle and knocked him to the ground. Not waiting a second longer, Quackerjack bounced off and reached the end of the hill.

Once there, he found he wasn't off the hook yet because some of the buildings were still overrun with Dr. Thornroot's plant minions. Some of the vines unwrapped themselves from the poles they had attached themselves on and tried to chase him, but the colorfully clad duck was not about to be stopped after he had come this far. He dodged them by bouncing from side to side, confusing the trailing vines and causing them to tie each other up. With them out of the way, he made his way back into the city as the sun set.

Not wanting to take any more chances, Quackerjack bounced high enough to grab on to a hanging street lamp. Using the thin pole to swing around like a gymnast would, he launched himself onto an empty balcony of an apartment building. Finding a broken window, he carefully contorted himself to keep from getting scraped by the broken glass and entered the room.

While there were no plant specimens of any kind in this single room apartment, much to Quackerjack's relief, there wasn't much of anything else there either. The room itself was pretty dark with dust covering the floors, walls and what little furniture there was in the small space. There were cobwebs all over the remaining table, chair, lamp and corners of the ceiling. When he flipped the light switch, he found that it had no effect. It was clear that no one had lived here in a long time.

There was little daylight left and the toymaker knew that something must be done about his cuts. Some of the wounds were deeper than the others and were still bleeding. He opened all the drawers he could find, hoping to get lucky enough to find some thread. Finding nothing in the drawers, he looked in one of the closets and found a clear plastic box left on top of it. Pulling it down and blowing off the dust, he saw through the clear top of the box what he was looking for: a needle and thread.

The jester opened the box, pulled both items out, then moved a chair with only three legs towards the window so he could have some light. He steadied himself on the chair, then got to work. With all the toys he'd sewn in his time he was handy with a needle, though stitching himself up proved to be a painful challenge. Biting his lower lip and wishing the thread was a color more lively than black, he continued his stitching.

When he was finally done with it, he sighed in relief and dropped the bloody needle and thread on the floor. He looked at the final product and gave it an approving nod. Not as good as a professional doctor would have done, but it would do for now. Quackerjack looked around the room for a towel he could use to wipe some of the blood from his sleeve, when his stomach gave a long growl. It reminded the colorfully clad duck that he hadn't had a bite to eat all day and after all his running, jumping and somersaulting, he needed something to recharge himself.

Getting up, he walked over to the refrigerator and opened it. A putrid smell assaulted him and he put a hand over his nostrils. Everything in the refrigerator was spoiled, rotting or already rotten. Shutting it in disgust, he decided he would have to venture outside and steal something from a nearby vendor. That's when he remembered all the plant constructions of Thornroot's that had been after him earlier and might still be out there.

He went back to the window and peered outside onto the street. It was completely dark out by now and there were no street lights lit on this street, but he could see a bunch of movement down below. It was slow and halting, not rhythmic like a normal person's would be. He realized there were just too many of those plant zombie creatures for him to dare venture outside again.

Pouting, he turned away from the window and slumped down on the floor. The sad clown put his head in his hand and closed his eyes, trying to ignore his grumbling stomach.

_This is no fun! _He grumbled to himself in his mind. _Here I was, thinking that with Darkwing Duck every day in this city would be one big party. A place where I could commit all the crimes I wanted and people would have no choice but to buy my toys. Instead, I'm sitting alone in some run down apartment, hiding from someone who used to be one of my play mates. _

Thinking about the old Bushroot made him remember one of the last things he had said to reluctant criminal mutant duck. _Okay, sure, I told Bushy to grow a backbone because he can be kind of a wimp sometimes, but I didn't mean for him to become, well, __**that**__. If that thought somehow became part of the new rules of this world, then I take it back. _Quackerjack looked up at the ceiling, sending the wish to whatever force had changed the world in the first place. _I really do!_

He looked up at the dark ceiling for a long moment before he closed his eyes again and rested his head against the wall. The jester really hadn't expected anything to come of that particular wish, but he thought it was worth a try. Relaxing his posture and making himself as comfortable as possible, the tired mallard fell into a troubled sleep.

* * *

Quackerjack woke up the next morning with the sun on his face and his body feeling quite stiff. It hadn't been the most comfortable position for him to sleep in and he was paying for it now. Getting up and doing some long stretches immediately remedied the problem for the agile duck. The problem of his growling gut, however, was not so easily fixed and he checked the window to see if it was safe to go outside. There were no signs of the lumbering plant creatures out on the street, so Quackerjack hastily exited the old apartment building via some stairs that had seen better days.

Once out on the street, he made his way back to one of St. Canard's main streets in the hopes of finding some people who were among the living. When he got closer to the street that went right through to the middle of St. Canard, the clown was shocked to see a big crowd of cheering people. Getting closer to see what all the fuss was about, he bounced high so he could see over the crowd and realized that there was some kind of parade going on. Another high bounce showed the large-billed duck a number of street vendors who were selling food for the event. Cackling to himself at his good fortune, he pushed his way into the crowd.

Quackerjack twisted and turned easily through the crowd of people who were too entranced by the parade to notice the strange clown sneaking around them. He easily snagged the wallet of a skinny canine male who was waving a small flag above his head, took all the money from it and dropped it back by the dog's feet. He repeated the process with a chubby duck woman, who gave him a nice lump sum and a teenage rooster kid, who didn't net him much, but he still took it anyway. By the time he had made his way towards the front of the parade, the toymaker had made himself a nice wad of cash, certainly enough to buy a decent breakfast.

At his stomach's request, Quackerjack went to the nearest possible food vendor, who was serving giant funnel cakes with plenty of powdered sugar. He eagerly paid for the treat, then pushed his way to the front of the crowd to watch the scene. The clown practically inhaled the whole cake, he had been so hungry, and he was still licking his fingers to get the powdered sugar off when a sharp voice made him jump.

"Hey! What do you think you're doing there?"

Thinking it was a cop who had caught up with him for stealing all that money, Quackerjack turned to disappear into the crowd. A strong hand clamped onto his big, puffy collar and pulled him back, spinning him around. He blinked in surprise as he realized that the man who had grabbed him was not a cop, but a fellow clown.

"Nobody's paying you to stuff your face, pal. You're supposed to be lining up with the rest of the guys over there." He pointed to the concrete in front of a rather elaborate reproduction of St. Canard float where several ducks, dogs and pigs in harlequin attire were impatiently waiting. "Now get!"

Quackerjack yelped at the hard shove he was given, which put him off balance. Instead of falling flat on his beak, he used the momentum to go into a somersault and spring back to his feet. Some of the other clowns clapped at the move or nodded their approval. Quackerjack gave a cheeky bow and lined up where he was told.

_Eh, I guess I can do some improvisation with these other amateurs. _He thought as he stretched his arms a bit. _They might even learn something from a pro like me._

"Remember, the mayor of St. Canard is counting on us to please the crowd for him." The clown who had pulled him out of the crowd instructed. "I wouldn't want to let him down, if I were you."

Everyone nodded agreeably and waited patiently for the signal for them to start moving. Quackerjack, never one to like waiting of any kind, began to fidget in place and started looking for something to occupy himself with. He turned around to look at the replica of St. Canard again and noticed that there was a seat that almost resembled a throne in the middle of the display. A tall canine man was sitting on it, his body language clearly making it known that he thought he deserved such a luxury.

Turning back around, the costumed duck leaned over to a dog clown in a green and yellow striped outfit who had colored his big nose red for the parade.

"Hey, you." Quackerjack whispered to get the others attention. The dog clown next to him startled out of his bored stupor and looked at the jester. "Who's the stiff on the float up there?"

The other clown gave him a funny look, as if he wanted to say that was a very stupid question, but refrained from doing so. "You're joking, right? That guy up there's the mayor of St. Canard. He runs this joint."

"Him?" The toymaker asked to no one in particular as he glanced back up at the figure on the float. Again, he got the nagging sense that this canine looked familiar, but he had no idea why. A whistle got his attention back in a hurry as the lead clown started signaling for them to move forward.

"All right boys, here we go! Let's show 'em yer stuff!"

Quackerjack, not the least bit nervous about being spontaneously thrown into the parade, marched along in step with the others. When they got closer to the crowd, synchronized flips, somersaults, timed jumps and other tricks began. The agile mallard was completely at ease with the performance and followed the lead of the others for a while before he decided the act needed a little something.

He got to the center of the all the clowns and pulled some small, exploding balls out of his pockets. At the push of a small button they activated and he juggled them all the while jumping over and spinning around the other performers. When they were about to explode, he let them loose into the air and they burst open with a splash of color that matched the colors on the outside of the balls. The crowd was awestruck for a moment, then applauded the trick wildly. Quackerjack gave both sides of the crowd a bow before flipping back into his line. Being the center of attention was something he lived for and the fact that the normal citizens of St. Canard were cheering on a big time criminal in a parade gave the toymaker even more to smile about.

The act consumed all of Quackerjack's limited attention span until they got close to the judging table. One of the announcers got on the intercom and introduced the mayor of St. Canard.

"Ladies and gentlemen! Please give a big round of applause for the mayor of our fair city, Mr. Buddy Flood!"

The canine on the float stood up from his chair and waved at the cheering crowd. Confetti flew all around him as he flashed a winning smile to all who could see him. When some of the noise had finally died down, he addressed the excited crowd. The colorfully clad duck nearly collided with another clown as a booming voice rang out behind him.

"Citizens of St. Canard, my constituents and dear friends. The safety of the populace, even in these troubling times, is a one hundred percent guarantee with me at the helm. All poll numbers agree that my stringent measures to reign in crime have worked and I am the best dog for the job. Remember, I live to serve!"

The crowd roared its approval as Quackerjack spun around in shock. That voice, the name and the slogan speech pattern told him exactly who this was. He finally knew why this canine had looked so familiar.

"Liquidator." He whispered to himself in awe as he stared up at the well dressed figure on the float.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, here ends the latest chapter. If you're wondering about the lag time between updates, I was busy with nanowrimo all last month, so I haven't been working on fanfiction very much. In addition to that, I've had a number of plot bunnies running around my head recently and I don't know how many of them I will act upon. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this installment.


	3. Politicians and Electricians

**Politicians and Electricians**

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Disclaimer: Thornroot is Jamcub's and Darkwing Snark's original character. Puppetcore is the creator of the Bud Flood politician concept used in this story. I asked permission to use these characters. The rest belong to Disney.

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Quackerjack continued to gawk at the waving, smiling figure up on the float. Though Liquidator had talked about his former self a couple of times and had shown his teammates some pictures of the way he used to look, the jester hadn't really paid much attention to the details. He had figured at the time that the information would never be relevant and, since he was a person who didn't like to get stuck in the past, he simply hadn't been interested. Now, he found himself wishing he had paid more attention.

"Hey, you, big beak!" One of the other clowns thumped him hard on the back and he nearly lost his balance due to the unexpected move. "Quit your lollygagging! We got a job to do. You can stare at the pretty boy mayor on your own time."

Scowling at the name he'd been called, he stuck his tongue out at the back of the departing clown, then literally leapt back into the routine. He flipped, jumped, cartwheeled and somersaulted with the others, but his heart really wasn't into it anymore. In fact, he was quite annoyed by being stuck with this troupe when he had just discovered where one of his old colleagues was in this world.

The colorfully clad duck was eager to introduce himself to the new mayor of St. Canard—but at the same time, he was feeling a pinch of doubt. After all, he had been excited to visit Bushroot yesterday and he had nearly been rewarded for his efforts by being made into a living plant mannequin. While he didn't think Bud Flood would be that vicious, or completely insane for that matter, he also remembered that the former corporate head had not been a very nice dog to begin with. He wasn't sure if his wish had effected him for the worse, but he seriously doubted that it had caused him to go straight.

Ten minutes later, the clowns stopped their theatrics and began walking calmly down the street as they reached the end of the parade. As they turned the final corner and left the crowd behind for good, the group of clowns was allowed to stop and take a breather. Many of the clowns sat down on the concrete street, obviously tired from all the exertion. Quackerjack, being used to doing such antics all the time, was not even the tiniest bit fatigued and looked upon those around him with a mixture of incredulousness and haughtiness.

"Fantastic job boys." The burly head clown said to them all, nodding his approval. "I can say without a doubt that this will be a performance the people of St. Canard remember for a long time." A smattering of applause and whistles met his words, which he waved away in a casual fashion. "More importantly, it means that all of you have earned your keep for today. Follow me to the set up area and we'll divvy up the pay."

At the guarantee of money, Quackerjack was eager to be the first one to get his earnings for the event. Before he got too caught up in what was going on, however, he spun around to look for the mayor of St. Canard. The replica float of St. Canard was still behind them and the jester spotted the suited canine being helped off the float by security with several people waiting below to talk with him. Grinning at his luck and figuring he had time to pick up some money and meet an old teammate, he hurried forward to the set up area to make sure he was first in line.

Fortunately for the costumed duck, the set up area was pretty close to where they had stopped and the other performers were still tired from the parade so he had no competition as he waited for the head clown to divvy up the money. He waited patiently as the head clown drug a big box out of the small building that had served as their staging area. A minute or two later, the burly clown pulled out a white envelope and read the name off of it.

"You're Quackwerth Jones, right?"

Quackerjack grinned mischievously at the name that was almost close to his own. "That's me."

"I thought so." The head clown said with a smug smile. "I'm good at remembering names and faces, you see."

"You sure are." The jester replied in a voice that was a little too sweet. Anyone who knew Quackerjack well would have understood that he was being insincere, but the other man just nodded along at what he perceived as a compliment. The toymaker folded the envelope, stuck it into one of his pockets and turned on his heel to skedaddle. "Well, I'll be going now, boss man."

"Real good job today!" The head clown shouted after him as he hustled back to where he had last seen Bud Flood.

He deftly wove between the other clowns who were heading towards the set up area and grinned widely as he saw that the salesman turned politician was still standing around right where he had left him. At the moment, the suited canine was busy talking to several young constituents, all of them female, who were hanging off his every word. Quackerjack waited impatiently for them to go away, but seeing how much Bud was enjoying their attention told him that his wish was not going to be granted any time soon.

Shaking his head at the shamelessness, the jester decided it would be best if he sat against the wall for a bit and tried to relax. He plopped down and pulled out his paddle ball. Bouncing the ball against the wooden paddle over and over again, he focused some of his energy on studying his now solid canine playmate.

_Well, he seems normal enough,_ Quackerjack thought upon examination, _though I have my doubts that he's quite as genuine as those girls seem to think he is. Liquidator was never the sort of dog who played by the rules unless it was somehow in his benefit to do so. Not that politicians are known for following rules anyway. _

The implications of this thought made a smile spread across his large beak and he had to keep himself from laughing. He didn't draw any unwanted attention to himself. _Wow, this really is the perfect career for him. Politicians live by taking other people's money, promising them that they'll fulfill all the promises they made on their campaigns. Afterwords, they take the money to give to their pals for getting them elected and keep the rest for themselves. Then, when the people they serve start asking where the money went or why they haven't seen any improvement to whatever project it was that they thought they funded, politicians simply make some excuses, make more promises and ask for more money from peoples' pockets. Their entire career is based on being charming towards the people they get their funding from and lying to them. That's a game I know that Liquidator—er Bud Flood, would be incredibly good at. All the more reason for me to get back on his good side. _

Quackerjack pulled Mr. Banana Brain out of his pocket and decided to get his input on the matter. "What do you think, Mr. Banana Brain? Should I try to make his acquaintance?"

"It's worth a try, Sly." The squeaky voice told him emphatically. "Besides, what can he do to us if things turn sour? He doesn't have super powers anymore."

"Ah, this is why I ask you questions Mr. Banana Brain." The toymaker replied, patting the doll on the head affectionately. "You always give the best advice."

As he put the doll back in his pocket, he noticed the giggling gaggle of girls had finally moved away from his target. Bud had an amused smile on his face as he watched them depart, then checked his watch to see what time it was. Quackerjack bounced to his feet and trotted towards the canine, looking forward to speaking with one of his old teammates again. With the former water salesman on his mind, he jumped right in front of the startled dog and spoke without thinking.

_ "_Liquidator!" He said loudly as he spontaneously hugged the canine. If he could have seen Bud's expression, he would have understood that his actions were entirely unappreciated and were making his former teammate uncomfortable. Fortunately for the clown, the dog in his arms was also too aware of his public image to start hollering and pushing off what he assumed was an overzealous resident of St. Canard.

"Pardon me?" The former salesman asked with a clear look of confusion on his face. Quackerjack let go, looked up at him and saw that his head was tilted to the side in question, with his ears raised slightly at the name he'd been called, along with the overly exuberant greeting.

"Oh, it's nothing. An error in the name game if you will. Say, you are Bud Flood, right?"

Now, the well-dressed canine looked absolutely baffled. "Well, yes. I am Bud Flood, the mayor of this fair city and protector of its assets."

"Just making sure. I'm new here...sort of..." Quackerjack said the last part quietly as he thought over his circumstances in his head.

"Ah, a new custo-er-constituent. Let me be the first to welcome you to the one-of-a-kind city of St. Canard. So, what brings such a colorful duck to this city? Business trip? Tourism, perhaps?"

"Oh, no, I don't have a job. I wasn't planning on getting one either. Those eight to five jobs are nothing but pointless, monotone factories that run five days a week." He stuck his tongue out and made a face. "No thanks."

"Ah, so you're unemployed. I see." There was an unmistakable tinge of disgust in his voice, though he still had a personable, charming expression on his face.

"That's part of why I came here." Quackerjack continued, deciding to make his move while he had an opening. "I'm aware of your astute business practices and I have talents that I'm sure could benefit your operation. If we started working together, I'm sure we'd be a winning tag team."

"I'm glad you approve of my business practices," Bud replied, clearly choosing his words carefully, "but I don't see how someone in, well, your position could help me. I've always prided myself on self-reliance and never enter into partnerships that I don't see much value in." The canine placed a hand on Quackerjack's shoulder to stall any protests he might make. "Nevertheless, I do have a duty to help the needy citizens of St. Canard and have come up with a patented program to assist people in your predicament."

"Really?" Quackerjack questioned curiously. This sounded a bit altruistic coming from the former scheming water dog. "How does it work?"

"You just have to fill out a few residency forms and then one of our nice social workers will show you to some public housing that newcomers live in until they're able to get back on their feet."

"That's all?"

"That's all." Bud confirmed with a small proud smile. "Bureaucracy has never been simpler for St. Canard as it has been under my skilled hands. Now, if you any more questions, I can answer them at city hall. Since I'm heading that way, I'll give you a lift and we can sort out the paperwork together. Sound good?"

Before he could answer, the well-dressed dog threw an arm around his shoulders and started steering him towards a black limousine. The toymaker very much wanted to throw the arm off of him, not liking to be dancing to someone else's tune, but he also didn't want to risk offending someone in such a position of power.

"Sure..." Quackerjack finally replied under his breath as a security guard opened the door for the two of them. Bud let go of him and he slid across the nice leather seats to the left side of the vehicle. The mayor of St. Canard got into the car next and the two of them exchanged good-natured small talk for the duration of the small trip. Though nothing that occurred during the conversation set off any alarm bells in the jester's head, he was also perceptive enough to see that the dog was trying very hard to be nice to him.

The trip to city hall didn't take very long and as Quackerjack got out of the limousine, he noticed that the building looked the same as it had before he made his wish. Bud gestured for him to follow after he was flanked by two security personnel. The clown did as he was asked, taking the small, gray steps two at a time.

Upon entering the building, Quackerjack noted that it was just as clean, stuffy, and dull as he imagined the inside of any political building would be. They walked down the hall, into the elevator and made their way to the top floor. When the doors opened, the toymaker found himself greeted with the sight of another long hallway with lots of small offices on either side. He started whistling to himself as they walked down the long hallway, feeling uncomfortable in such a bland, unappealing setting, but one stern look from one of the security personnel got him to stop.

Once they exited the long hallway, they found themselves in a large room with chairs lined up against the walls for people to sit in as they waited. To the right side of the room was a plain wooden desk where a short, female duck receptionist sat typing away at her computer. She had shoulder-length, straight black hair, which matched her plain black dress and black heels. Her eyelids were covered by purple eye shadow and she gave the jester a less than friendly look as he passed.

When they reached the door to his office, Bud dismissed the security guards and unlocked the door for the two of them. Quackerjack entered the spacious room and was impressed, though not surprised, by the luxury he found inside. The floor was covered with a plush, red carpet and two fine leather couches were set sideways for guests to sit on. There was a short, marble table that sat in between the two couches with a large, flat screen TV attached to the right side wall. The wooden desk by the windows of his office looked brand new and an incredibly comfortable, expensive looking desk chair sat behind that. The walls were plastered with pictures of the canine, his company and newspaper articles that lauded his latest political gains.

"Here, take a seat and make yourself comfortable." Bud instructed as he walked over to his desk phone. Quackerjack immediately sprawled out on the leather couch towards the left side of the room with his feet kicking the side of it.

"Maybe not that comfortable." Bud amended with a tone that told the clown he wasn't pleased with such childlike behavior. Quackerjack sat up straight with a shrug and a silly little grin as way of apology. The canine turned back to his phone and pressed a button to turn on the intercom. "This is Bud Flood speaking. Please bring two hot mugs of coffee and the unemployed residency forms with you."

The intercom clicked off and Bud came to sit down across from Quackerjack. "My secretary will be here shortly with the paperwork." The jester made a face at the last word and Bud chuckled a little. "Not a fan of the stuff, I take it."

"I don't know anyone who likes filling the stuff out," he replied with a smile, "but shredding it, on the other hand, is loads of fun."

Bud gave a short laugh at that. "You can't imagine how many times I've wanted to take the paperwork that lands on my desk and do just that. If only I had such a luxury," the canine remarked wistfully before turning back to his guest with a smug smile. "Speaking of luxury, what do you think of what I've done to this place? Not to brag, but this was a dinky little place before I got elected and made some changes."

"Brag? You? I couldn't imagine it," Quackerjack responded, hiding his hint of sarcasm under a casual demeanor. "All the additions of the room paint a picture of the finer things in life, while the pictures on the wall give it that, well shall we say, _personal_ touch."

"Ah, from that commentary one might assume that you see them as conceited." Bud remarked with a small glint of understanding in his eyes.

"That's not very nice, you know." The jester replied with mock indignation. "I never said that."

"You didn't have to." Bud replied calmly. The subject was dropped when the intercom buzzed on and a female voice with an Italian accent spoke out of it.

"Mr. Flood, you're secretary is waiting outside your door."

"Thank you darling." He answered before turning the intercom off. He then pushed a button underneath his desk to unlock the door for his secretary.

"Come in." The canine politician called out and the door opened.

A tall, curvy duck woman walked into the room carrying a tray of hot drinks. The woman had long black hair with white streaks in it, which spiraled down to her hips. Her green eyes, though full and beautiful, were fixed on Quackerjack with a cool stare that told him that she was only serving him because she had been ordered to. Bright red lipstick accented her bill and thick mascara adorned her long eyelashes. She wore a low cut black dress with spaghetti string straps, which purposefully left much of her chest exposed. The outline of a red heart adorned the front of her dress, except that the jagged nature of the design gave the impression that the heart was bleeding. A black shawl was thrown over her shoulders as an accent to her dress. Her shoes were red high heels that matched the crimson color of the heart on her dress.

As she walked past them to place the drinks on the table, he saw that she had a high slit up the right side of her dress, ending on her upper thigh. She put the tray down slowly and leaned down enough to purposefully give her canine boss a long look at her cleavage. A flirtatious sparkle in her eyes was met with an appreciative, albeit wolfish grin.

Quackerjack blinked when he realized who it was he was staring at. "Morgana?" He blurted out, unable to hold back his shock.

"You two know each other?" Bud questioned in surprise.

"What do you mean? Of course I know—um, that is, I mean," Quackerjack responded hastily, thinking fast to cover up his mistake. "I just, uh, saw advertisements for her restaurant downtown and she, well, looks a lot different in them."

The toymaker's uneasiness dissipated a bit when Morgana gave him an understanding smile. "Yes, I suppose I do. My restaurant is marketed as a family friendly place and my attire in those photos needed to reflect that attitude. It is just good business, you understand."

"Yeah, got it." Quackerjack said agreeably, wanting the issue to be put behind them.

"It is a quality establishment. I would personally recommend it to newcomers such as yourself." Bud endorsed with a warm smile as he looked over at Morgana. "That aside, we should get back to the purpose of our meeting. Morgana, I trust you brought the paperwork I asked you to get?"

In answer, Morgana lifted up four pieces of paper off the tray and a cheap black pen to go with them. She handed the items to Quackerjack, who took them with a half-hearted thanks. The tall duck woman seemed to understand why he was lacking in enthusiasm and smiled at him in amusement.

"I know that paper work isn't the most entertaining invention known to man—in fact it could be considered by many as a form of torture—but the sooner you start working on it, the sooner it'll be done."

"If this task bothers you too much, I could always trade you so that you could be the one to read through the financial report on my desk and fill in the blanks wherever necessary." Bud said dryly as he pointed to a giant stack of papers sitting on his desk. Quackerjack's beady eyes widened in dismay at the thought of how long it would take to get through at least forty tedious forms."How does that sound?"

"No deal!" The clown replied earnestly, shaking his head back and forth for emphasis. He immediately got started on the documents for unemployed residency, taking the hint that he shouldn't stall on the project any longer.

Quackerjack quickly scribbled his way down the pages, not caring to be accurate or detailed on the documents. Every once in a while, he would glance up to see what Bud and Morgana were doing. They were sitting silently side by side on the couch with Bud sipping his coffee and Morgana either examining her nails or making eyes at the canine. Quackerjack couldn't help but smirk a little at how Darkwing would react if he could see his girlfriend mooning over one of his worst enemies.

_It makes some sense, I suppose. After all, Morgana was a villain like me until Darkwing turned her into a no-fun, goody-goody. Before that happened, I heard she was quite an ambitious business woman who used her magic to give her an edge. Without Dorkwing around, she would have continued her underhanded tactics in the business world, which probably led her to become friends with a similarly ambitious and underhanded business dog in Bud Flood._

A few more scribbles and he reached the end of the paper work. With a dramatic sigh, he got up slowly, as if the task had drained him considerably, and handed the papers over to Bud. The canine took them with a short thanks and glanced at them to see that everything was filled out. His eyebrows raised as he went through the pages, but whether it was in regards to his bad hand writing or to some of his quirkier answers he could only guess. Despite his clear reservation, the well-dressed dog still got up and placed the completed forms on his desk.

"Well, thank you for finishing these as best you could." Bud remarked with a small shake of his head. "I'll make sure these get to the right bureaucrats so that they can be filed. If you wait in the lobby, I can arrange for one of the social workers to show you to your new temporary housing."

Quackerjack jumped off the couch at the dismissal, more then happy to be leaving the stuffy building behind him. "Sounds like a fun game to me."

"Before you go, I would like to ask you something. I recall that when we first met you called me by a strange name. I believe it started with an 'L'"

"Maybe I did," the jester admitted carefully, "but I couldn't tell you what it was now. I don't see why you should worry about it."

"Can't?" Bud questioned as he studied him. He noticed that Morgana's eyes were fixed on him as well. "Or won't?"

"Sheesh, it's like you're giving me a seven-ten split to deal with." Quackerjack responded smoothly. "It's such a trivial detail that I don't see why it would bother you."

"It doesn't bother me," the former salesman replied with similar smoothness, "but this perceptive politician does find it odd that the name you called me sounds a tad like the name of a criminal who's famous in the underground. A villain who, according to rumors, has no solid form and dishes out watery punishment wherever it suits him."

The toymaker blinked in surprise at this new information. The description he had just been given sounded a lot like Liquidator, but that couldn't be right. Liquidator, now Bud Flood, was standing right in front of him as normal and plain looking as he had been before his mutation. He stowed away the information for later, figuring he could look into it more when he was on his own.

"That's ridiculous. I don't think such a being could really exist here." Quackerjack said with some sincerity.

Bud scrutinized him a moment longer, clearly trying to discern if he was being genuine or not. Finally, he shrugged, walked over to the colorfully clad duck and offered his hand.

"Then, forget that I mentioned it. It was very nice meeting you and I hope you enjoy your stay in St. Canard, for however long it lasts."

"Oh, believe me, I plan to be here for a long time." He replied shaking Bud's hand vigorously before letting go. "Perhaps I can even swing by here again and we can discuss some of those business practices of yours."

"Yes, I believe we it is safe to advertise that we will see each other again soon." The former salesman said shaking his hand a little after the overenthusiastic handshake. "Now, if you wait in the lobby, I'll call for Maurice and he can help set you up for your new living arrangements. Is that acceptable to you?"

"Yeah, sounds good." Quackerjack responded agreeably, feeling anxious to leave. He opened the door and waved at his former teammate. "Thanks for the help."

"No thanks necessary. It's what I was elected to do." The canine politician spoke with pride as he watched the large-billed duck exit his office. He picked up his coffee mug and sat down at his desk. The canine made a phone call to the social worker Maurice, briefly explained the situation and told him where to meet his client. Once that was done, he leaned back in his comfy office chair with a sigh, making himself comfortable.

"My, my, Mr. Flood, you're going to help that poor man?" Morgana's eyes glittered with understanding and her lips curved into a small smirk. "You really are the politician of the people."

"Yes, I always have time to give my patented help plan to those residents who really need it." He remarked with a similar smirk as he sipped at his cup of coffee. "I've always been fond of efficiency you see and I like to get the most out of my money—for the sake of those people I like, of course."

"Would one of those people happen to be you?" She asked wryly, though she already knew the answer.

"I'm one of the wealthiest, most prestigious and, dare I say, the handsomest canine in St. Canard." The mayor of the city announced proudly, with a hand over his heart. "Who in their right mind _wouldn't_ like me?"

"Well, a few people who love their morals a little too much perhaps," Morgana said distastefully as she got behind Bud and started massaging his shoulders. He smiled and relaxed at the move, as she leaned down by his ear and whispered, "Not that they're any trouble to us. They may love their morals, but they also know what's good for them."

"Exactly. Let them believe whatever it is that makes them feel better provided that they keep it to themselves. If they break that clause of our unspoken agreement, well..."

He trailed off meaningfully and the witch didn't bother asking what he meant. She had long been in on his plans and her lips curled into an unpleasant smile. Halting her massage teasingly, she walked around the chair so that she was facing him again, running her fingers down the length of his arm as she did so.

"Say, I count as one of those people you like, don't I?" She looked at her nails with feigned indifference, though her green eyes were filled with mirth as she awaited the answer.

"Now, I could just tell you what you want to hear," Bud remarked with a mischievous grin, "but if you're worried about it, then a demonstration might be better."

Bud wrapped an arm around her waist and twirled her around until she was sitting on his lap. She laughed as she wove her thin arms around his shoulders, feeling his fingers running through her hair. One arm firmly circled her waist and held her tight.

"I thought you had some important business to attend to with some of your fellow politicians this afternoon." She said in mock reproach, but she made no move to get out of his embrace.

"Official reports shows that they can wait. I am the busiest man in St. Canard, after all, and cannot always be expected to be on time."

"This isn't exactly the kind of on the clock work that they would expect you to be doing."

"That is the beauty of it, my dear." He said as he kissed her forehead. "Unless they receive some key insider information, they can never know _what_ exactly I am busy with."

"And if they find out?"

"Then, my business with them will include my patented brand of black mail. As for my business with you..."

He trailed off purposefully and pulled her in close for a kiss. She happily returned it and wrapped her arms around him, expecting to be close to him for quite some time.

* * *

Once Quackerjack had exited Bud's office, he waited in the lobby as he was instructed. The receptionist behind the desk told him to have a seat, which he did for a minute or two, then became tired of sitting still and stood up again. He pulled a bouncy ball out of his pocket and started throwing it repeatedly against the wall. The short receptionist glared at him fiercely for such behavior, but before she could say anything, the social worker assigned to Quackerjack arrived.

Maurice was a wrinkly, old mule, with tired blue eyes and an unchanging, humorless expression. He was wearing a plain black suit with a white shirt and he was bent over slightly from his bad back. He confirmed who the jester was in a monotone voice that used as few words as physically possible, then instructed the large-billed duck to follow him. Quackerjack did as he was told, though not without thinking this had to be one of the most boring individuals he had ever met.

The pair got on a bus on Maurice's instruction and rode towards the outskirts of the city. When they got off, the toymaker noticed that they were relatively close to Bushroot's Greenhouse, which was not comforting to him in the slightest. After walking a few blocks from the bus stop, they arrived at a six story building that had been painted a dull gray in color. Maurice led the way inside to the front desk where he explained the situation to the disinterested looking canine behind it and received a room key.

"You're in room 606," the mule stated slowly as he handed over the key. "That means you're on the sixth floor in room six. Take the elevator all the way up and it should be the last room facing the front of the building. If you lose the key, you have to pay for a new one. If you have any other questions you can call someone in my office and they'll assist you. Any questions?"

"No." Quackerjack rolled back and forth on his heels in irritation, really wanting the mule to leave so he could get on with his life.

"Then, good day to you sir." The mule nodded to him and started to leave, but then turned back as he remembered something. "Oh and one more thing. The city is under curfew once nightfall hits. Strange folk walk the streets at night and if you're not careful we can't be held responsible for what happens. Is that clear?"

"Crystal." The jester replied, understanding that he was probably referring to the undead plant creatures that had chased him the day before. Though he appreciated the warning, he was still feeling impatient and wanted to get away from the slow-talking mule and see his new room. "Well, it's been lots of fun, but I have to be going now."

"Take care." Maurice told him without feeling and walked back out of the building. Happy to be rid of the dullard, Quackerjack ran towards the elevator and pressed the button for the sixth floor. When the double doors opened, he raced down the white painted hallway to the final room towards the front of the building. He stuck his key in the lock and opened the door.

The clown walked into a studio apartment and panned the room to see what was in it. The main room was pretty plain with the necessary essentials, such as a futon, stove, refrigerator and microwave, spread out in the room. He went to the futon and saw plain white sheets and a white pillow set on top of it. A window was right above his futon and he looked out of it to see the top of a utility pole and the side of another building. Seeing nothing more of interest inside the small apartment, other then the small room where the bathroom was, he shrugged and decided it would do until he got back into crimes.

Quackerjack's stomach growled and he remembered that he hadn't eaten anything since that morning. Looking outside, the clown saw that there were still a few hours of daylight left and that he would have plenty of time to get something to eat before sunset. He exited his room without locking the door and headed outside in search of sustenance.

Hoping to find a grocery store of some kind, the jester was happy to see a hamburger hippo not far down the street. Using some of the money he'd earned at the parade that morning, he bought a couple large meals, for he knew he wouldn't be able to get anything more once the sun went down. He didn't want any trouble for now, so he just paid like an average citizen would and went back to his apartment.

Once there, Quackerjack put some of the food down on the stove and then plopped down on the futon, sipping at an extra large chocolate milkshake. He was pulling out his basket of fries and eating the few that fell into the bag, when he thought he heard another voice close by. Looking around the small room and seeing no one there, he turned around to look out the window to see if the person was outside. The jester blinked when he realized there was someone perched on top of the utility pole.

It was a skinny man in a yellow and black jumpsuit with some band wrapped around his back. Quackerjack squinted at the figure to get a better look at him in the waning daylight and recognized the hat he was wearing on his head. It was a red-orange plug hat similar to the one worn by his partner in crime Megavolt.

A great, big smile stretched across his bill as excitement spread through his being. He opened the window and stuck his head out to greet another one of his old teammates. The toymaker was about to holler out a greeting to the rat when he noticed the other villain seemed to holding a conversation with someone or something. He seemed to be muttering towards his right arm, but Quackerjack quickly dismissed the strange behavior. After all, Megavolt talked to light bulbs and other inanimate objects before his wish was granted and he saw no reason why he wouldn't do so now.

Pulling out Mr. Banana Brain, Quackerjack waved it back and forth as he spoke in the puppet's shrill, squeaky voice. "How do you do, Stu?"

The electric rodent jumped a little at the question, then turned around as best he could while still perched on top of the utility pole. Quackerjack could see that his partner in crime looked mostly the same, except that there was now more black on his costume then there used to be. His mismatched eyes studied the colorfully-clad duck in curiosity and confusion. He looked between the duck and his banana shaped doll as if questioning which one of them he should address first.

"You talking to me?" He asked in his nasally voice, pointing a finger at himself.

Quackerjack rolled his eyes at the obvious question. "Who else is there to talk to, Lou?" Mr. Banana Brain answered for him.

"It's just—you know who I am, right?"

"Well, yeah. You're Megavolt, one of St. Canard's greatest, not to mention long standing, villains. Who wouldn't know you?" The jester responded for himself that time and the rodent tilted his head to the side in consideration.

"Megavolt? That sounds familiar..."

"It should. It's your name for crying out loud!" Quackerjack said with some dismay. He knew his fellow villain had a poor memory, but he had never forgotten his own name before.

"Oh, that's right!" The electric rodent declared with a snap of his fingers. "That **was** my name for a short period of time. Back when I first started being a bad guy, all those years ago at my high school reunion. No one's called me that in a long time..."

Quackerjack paused at this information, then shook his head and spoke slowly. "Then, what do people call you?"

"Mechavolt." He replied as if the answer should be obvious. He crossed his arms over his chest plug-in and waited for the colorfully clad duck to figure it out.

"'Mechavolt?'" The clown repeated, then his beady eyes studied the rodent's right arm and he sucked in his breath. The black color that he had thought was part of his costume was really metal parts. His former teammate had a metal arm connected to the remaining flesh at the elbow. Studying him further, Quackerjack also realized that his left leg was also metal from the knee down. Part of his left shoulder had some plates covering it as did a section of his chest.

"I've got quite a few mechanical parts holding me together." Mechavolt told the strange duck as he continued to examine him. "Hence the name."

"How did this happen to you?" Quackerjack questioned, torn between curiosity and guilt.

"It's not something I like talking about." The electric rat said, clearly wanting to dodge the topic. "Besides it's a long story. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"Bap. Bap. Wrong!" The toymaker imitated the voice of a corny game show host. "The correct answer is that the clown in front of you has nothing to do and would like to hear your story. It would help him pass the time."

Mechavolt gave him a odd look at this strange way he had responded. "Aren't you scared of me?"

"Nope." Quackerjack told him with an exuberant shake of his head and a big smile. He put Mr. Banana Brain in front of him and said: "Not a bit, Schmidt."

"I see." Mechavolt gave him a look that said he really didn't know what to do with the strange duck, but there was also a small, amused smile on his face. Suddenly, the rat blinked and looked back and forth as if he was just figuring out where he was.

"What?" The clown questioned as a troubled look presented itself on the rodent's face.

"What are you doing in this place?"

"Now _that's_ a boring story." Quackerjack said with a dramatic sigh. "The short of it is I met Bud Flood today, told him I was new in town—which is sorta true, sorta not—and he told me to fill out some unemployed residency forms so I could have this dinky little room here. It almost wasn't worth enduring the dull atmosphere of city hall, if you ask me."

"Bud Flood sent you here?"

"Why, you know him?"

"Yes." Mechavolt answer was succinct and serious. He looked back and forth again, as if to see if anyone was around. He gripped part of his metal forearm with his left hand tightly and locked eyes with Quackerjack.

"Listen carefully." Mechavolt spoke softly, but quickly. "You need to get out of this place—fast!"

"Why? What's—"

"Just listen! Take only what you can carry with you and head for the St. Canard plane hangar. Do you know where that is?"

"Yeah, it's a little ways from the warehouse district." Quackerjack responded, confused by the sound of urgency in the electric rat's voice.

"Good. Head there and go to a large black hangar near the entrance. Inside of it is someone who can help you."

Mechavolt started climbing back down the utility pole in a hurry, but the jester's call stopped him.

"Wait! Help me do what?"

"Survive the night. If you manage that, he'll find a way to help you leave this city for good."

"B-But, I want to stay..." Quackerjack replied with a whine.

"Then you're insane." Mechavolt said, then smiled to himself as if amused by some kind of inside joke. "Coming from me, that says a lot." His former teammate then looked up at him with a somber expression that couldn't be ignored. "There's nothing good left in this city. If you don't take anything else out of my warning, then at least remember that. Please, try to get out."

Without another word, Mechavolt slid down the pole and disappeared into an alleyway. Quackerjack called out to him, but the other villain was gone. The jester crossed his arms and thought over what he'd just heard. His former teammate made it sound like he was in some kind of danger here. He liked to think he could handle himself, after all he was far from helpless, but the look Mechavolt had given him when he explained his situation had made him uneasy.

_He could just be lying to me. There's no way for me to really know what he's really like now or if I can trust him. _Quackerjack thought as he chewed his lip. _Still, if it were Megavolt telling me this, I would have believed him. I've always trusted him more than the others, after all..._

His former experience with Megavolt decided him and he glanced out the window to see that there wasn't much daylight left. He needed to hurry if he was going to leave. The toymaker was about to grab the remainder of his dinner and get out of his apartment, when a loud pop stopped him. A pipe in the bathroom had burst and water began shooting out into the kitchen.

Annoyed at the inconvenience, Quackerjack picked up one of his sheets and was going to use it to clog the burst pipe, when the water took on a life of its own. It shot at him in a concentrated blast, knocking him off his feet and flat on his beak. Groaning and spitting out some of the fluid, he was about to get up when a familiar voice made him pause.

"Are you needy? A burden on others in society? Then allow me to give you a proven quick end to your otherwise pointless life!"

* * *

Author's Note: Surprised? If you're wondering how that's possible, I'll give you a hint. It has something to do with Morgana. As always, I hoped you enjoyed this chapter and will stick around for the next one.


	4. A Friendly Face

**A Friendly Face**

* * *

Disclaimer: Thornroot is Jamcub's and Darkwing Snark's original character. Puppetcore is the creator of the Bud Flood politician concept used in this story. I asked permission to use these characters. The rest belong to Disney.

* * *

The voice and the delivery of the dialogue jolted the soaked Quackerjack back up into a sitting position. His beak hung ajar as he looked at the watery being in front of him. It was indeed Liquidator, but at the same time it was not the Liquidator he remembered. This water dog had the outlines of clothing over his body, a classy business suit to be precise. There was no longer a wet puddle where his feet used to be. Instead, his small feet remained in tact with the wet outlines of dress shoes covering them. His face looked the same, except that this Liquidator had thick, slicked back hair almost dripping down to his neck. The hollow dark blue eyes were set on him in a nasty glare, while his mouth was firmly set in a smirk.

"Liquidator?" Quackerjack questioned, blinking his eyes a few times. "It's you, isn't it?"

"The one and only." The aqua dog replied with smug satisfaction as he placed a hand on his chest. "The Liquidator is usually quite happy to hear that his illustrious reputation precedes him, however, there is an exception to every rule." He crossed his arms over his suited chest and tilted his head in curiosity. "For you see, the Liquidator has another image he must maintain at all costs, one that you nearly compromised today with your foolish outburst earlier this afternoon. Inquiring minds are dying to know how you knew his secret?"

_So, he _is _Bud Flood, but how is that possible? _The large-billed mallard paused a moment to think the question over. This led the canine in front of him to become impatient for an answer and place his hands on his hips. _Well, never mind that now. I have to get through whatever he's got planned for me first. _

"What can I say? I'm a good guesser." The jester shrugged flippantly, thinking that the truth would be too farfetched for the dog in front of him to take seriously. He smiled widely, hoping to lighten the mood and tried to get back up on his feet. Before he could fully stand upright, another powerful jet of water hit him in the stomach and sent him rolling across the floor. He clutched his stomach in pain and gasped for breath as all the air had been knocked out of him due to the water blast.

"Don't play dumb with me. The Liquidator has no time for games."

"You're no fun!" The toymaker whined as he slowly got back on his feet. A small grin tugged on his beak in spite of the situation. "Not that you ever were to begin with. You've always been all business and no play. It can't be good for your stress levels."

Quackerjack had to hold back a giggle at the irked expression on the water canine's face. He gave a low growl to show his lack of amusement at the grinning duck before him. "Fine. The Liquidator will allow you to keep your secrets on one condition."

"I don't think I like the sound of this..." The colorfully clad duck muttered as the dog in front of him began to look all the more sinister.

"The condition being that your secrets go with you to your watery grave. The Liquidator will be happy to assist you in this settlement."

"No deal!" Quackerjack shouted back at him as he got into a ready stance and prepared for whatever the liquid dog had planned.

"Sorry, negotiations are closed. The final offer stands." Liquidator replied with one finger up in the air. The walls surrounding the apartment began to shake and the jester started looking around him in alarm, wondering what the former salesman was up to.

"You see, one of the many services the Liquidator gives to the residents of St. Canard is protection from its many villains. They pay for the services, the money is collected and the transaction for their continued existence is complete. However, if a resident misses a payment or simply cannot pay at all—"

Every pipe in the apartment burst and a deluge of water headed his direction. He tried to hop out of its way, but it took on a life of its own and swirled up to grab him. A giant wet hand closed over him and bound him. He wiggled ineffectively in its grasp, staring in dismay down at his former teammate.

"Liquidator..." He pleaded weakly with his watery captor who met the act with a cruel smile as he finished his slogan.

"—their life is terminated by my hands or one of my many associates. It's quite an effective system, if I do say so myself. Now, it's your unlucky day to take part in this system for the good of St. Canard. Farewell, my unfortunate friend."

The watery hand disappeared for a split second and he slid down for an instant before he was swallowed up by a circular tube of water. It swirled all around him and held him tightly in its grasp. He barely had time to hold his breath before it had engulfed him and he was running out of air. Desperately, he reached into his pockets and hoped that he had brought a certain toy with him. The toymaker inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled out his deluxe joy buzzer. He closed his hand around the toy and tried to aim in proximity to where he thought the Liquidator was standing.

_I've only got one shot at this! Good thing I spent so much time throwing baseballs at the stacks of bottles at the last carnival I went to. Alright, here goes!_

Quackerjack turned the buzzer on and threw it as hard as he could out of the water surrounding him. His aim was true and it hit the Liquidator dead center. The buzzer was designed to give an electric shock so strong that it knocked out whomever he used it on and the water that made up the aqua dog's body only amplified its powers. Liquidator gave a long shout that was a mixture of surprise and pain before his body exploded leaving only a stunned, wet puddle in its wake.

The clown fell to the floor as Liquidator lost his concentration, coughing and trying to gasp air back into his starved lungs. He knew he couldn't lie there and fully recover for he didn't know how long the former salesman would be out of commission. Still coughing and shaking, he headed towards the window that led to the utility poles and opened it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the puddle behind him start to quiver and move, so without another thought he sprung out the window and bounced off of the wires strung between the utility poles.

On his way down, he took a rubber ducky boat out his pocket, pulled the cord to inflate it and then let it drop to the hard ground below. He rolled onto the soft surface of the rubber ducky life boat to break his fall and then dashed away down the same dark alley that Mechavolt had earlier that day. The jester thought he heard an angry howl behind him along with a large splash of water, but he wasn't sure.

Quackerjack ran as fast as he could away from the apartment building in the dwindling sunlight. The plane hangar was still a long way from where he was, but he didn't want to use any of his toys for increased mobility until he was a far distance away from where he'd left the Liquidator. He didn't know if the watery dog was trying to find him, but the jester guessed that it was likely he was considering how ambitious the ex-salesman had always been. He doubted that his wish had downplayed that particular aspect of his former teammate.

Once the toymaker was halfway between the apartment building and the plane hangar, he decided to pull out a pair of tiny handle bars with a button in the middle of them. He pressed it and soon the handle bars expanded and the rest of the pogo stick came into being. The jester had found lugging around a typical pogo stick to be tedious, so he had designed one that could detract into a more manageable size at the press of a button. Grinning at his own genius, he bounced down the deserted streets with ease.

Quackerjack was making good progress towards getting to the plane hangar as the sun finally set on St. Canard. He was whistling a tune to himself to break up the deafening silence that seemed to be all around him when he heard a crash behind him. The clown was skilled enough not to let the noise disrupt his rhythm on the pogo stick and he turned his head around to see what had caused the noise. His eyes widened as he recognized one of the living dead plant creatures from Thornroot's Greenhouse. It was an obese plant duck mannequin that apparently suffered from poor eye sight as it had ran right into a large garbage can.

The jester turned his head back around and was about to increase his momentum when he noticed another undead plant creature directly in front of him. He looked to be a lanky teenage fox whose vine arms were stretched out to grab him. Quackerjack did a short jump in front of the plant fox creature, putting his full weight down on the springs and did a high jump over the creature just as it tried to snatch him.

"Too slow!" The large-billed duck blew a raspberry at the bewildered plant fox. The wide grin on his bill vanished for a split second as he saw more undead plant creatures in front of him. It quickly returned as he let his sense of fun take over. "Alright, you bunch of green freaks, catch me if you can!"

Quackerjack spent the next length of his journey playing chicken with Thornroot's lackeys. The colorfully clad duck would do a short bounce right in front of his opponent, then bounce away the second they tried to grab him. He shouted insults to each of them, laughing to himself at their general ineptitude. He continued in this fashion until he reached the warehouse district and saw the entrance to the plane hangar. That's when his happiness faded and his smug grin was wiped off his face. There were at least thirty plant mannequin creature between him and his destination.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut, the toymaker plunged forward on his pogo stick hoping that the element of surprise would be with him. The undead creatures turned their heads his direction at the sound of the first bounce and started lumbering towards him. Quackerjack did a high bounce over the first crowd plant creatures and another high bounce got him over the second. Just as he thought he might be in the clear, the jester felt something wrap around his pogo stick. He found it wrenched from under him in the middle of a high bounce and he did a belly flop on the hard concrete ground.

The wind was completely knocked out of him and it took him a moment to recover. When he finally pushed himself up, he realized that he was now facing a wall of Thornroot's lackeys coming right for him. He rolled away as a pair of leafy hands tried to snatch him and he got to his feet in an attempt to run away. He stopped quickly as he saw two large bear plant beings in front of him and tried to go back, only to find three dog plant creatures blocking his way. The clown realized too late that the skulking plant creatures had formed a semi-circle around him and were pushing towards the fence to block his escape. He doubted he could climb up fast enough to escape his enemies and the fence was too high for him to jump without gaining some momentum first.

Quackerjack slowly backed away from the advancing horde of Thornroot's minions, wracking his brain for any way he could get out of his predicament. Just as he was about to have his back pressed against the fence, a canister of smoke was thrown inbetween him and the plant creatures. It covered them all in purple smoke, occluding their vision of the jester and causing them to run into each other in their confusion.

"Over here!" A familiar voice shouted to Quackerjack through the smoke. "Quickly!"

Quackerjack headed towards the voice without a second thought, avoiding contact with the stumbling plant creatures. He ran until he saw a burly looking duck wearing a worn out reddish-brown sweater and thin light brown pants that were sporting a few holes. He had a ratty white scarf around his neck and his head was covered by a pilots cap. His red hair was streaked with white and looked a bit disheveled. The large man gestured for him to follow and jester did as he was asked.

The pair ran away from the smoke and into a large black plane hangar with its door ajar. They ran inside and the burly duck shut the large hangar door behind him and slide three large metal bars across it to keep it shut. When he was finished, he let out a large sigh, then took out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his sweaty brow.

"Phew, that was a close one." The big duck told Quackerjack with a chuckle. "Lucky for us, those guys are none too bright." The jester returned the smile of the friendly duck and was about to thank him for his help when he finally got a good look at him. His smile faded and his straightened up as he got a better look at the familiar figure.

"Launchpad? Is that you?" Quackerjack asked as he continued to examine the now worn looking sidekick. He seemed to be at least five years older than when he had last seen him.

"Whoa, uh, how do you know my name? I don't think we've ever met." Launchpad replied, scratching his head. "I mean, I know my memory's not the greatest, but I think I would have remembered you. Particularly with, uh, such colorful duds as yours."

"Oh, uh, it was Mega-er-Mechavolt." Quackerjack improvised quickly. "He told me that I should get out of town and that you were the guy to see for that."

"Did he now? That's kinda strange with him being a bad guy and all." Launchpad's expression turned somber and the jester tried to remember if he'd ever seen that expression on the large duck's face. The pilot heaved a long sigh. "Though I guess he's not as bad as some of the others we got around here."

"Yeah, at least he doesn't have rotting plant mannequins walking around the streets at night." Quackerjack muttered in a mutinous tone. The events of the past two days started whirling through his mind and he pulled down on the ends of his hat, stretching them farther then he ever had before. He grit his teeth and tried to contain himself, but his emotions got the better of him and he let out an angry cry. "Okay, I can't take it anymore! What's wrong with this city? Why is everything so screwed up here?"

"Ummm, well, I don't really know where to start with that one." Quackerjack pouted at Launchpad's answer and crossed his arms. "It might take days to explain everything. What I'm curious about is why would you come here at all, especially with the reputation St. Canard has. It's, well, it's not exactly a secret."

"Let's just say I didn't have any choice." The toymaker supplied in a tone that said he didn't want any more questions on the matter. He, the master of fun and play, wasn't in the mood for games at the moment. "Now, can you tell me what's going on here or can't you?"

The pilot ignored the snappiness of the remark and continued speaking in a polite, helpful manner. "Maybe if you could narrow it down a bit, I could help ya."

Quackerjack thought it over and nodded. "All right then." He pulled Mr. Banana Brain out of his pocket and waved him back and forth as he spoke. "Let's start with that nasty plant scientist and his even nastier playmates. What's wrong with him, Jim?"

"Well, it's Launchpad, not Jim." He replied to the doll, confused by the ventriloquism act. "As for your question, well, eh, that's kind of a sad story. Here, come look at this."

Launchpad gestured for him to follow and they both walked over to a desk with a shelf above it on the right side of the plane hangar. The large duck pulled out a small black binder and blew the dust off of it. He set it down on the desk so they could both see it, then he flipped through a few pages and stopped when a familiar green face popped up.

"Bushroot." Quackerjack said when he saw the picture. He felt a bit surprised at how happy he was to see that picture, but then he hadn't seen that many friendly faces since he had arrived in the world he'd accidentally wished for.

"You know about him then?"

"Bushroot? Yeah, I know him. He got fired from his job and then experimented on himself to become a plant mutant." Quackerjack recited from memory. He didn't know all the details simply because he hadn't paid much attention when Bushroot had told him about it, but he knew the basics of he story.

Launchpad nodded and continued talking. "Yeah, well after he transformed himself into a half-plant half-duck he decided to enact his revenge on his peers and his boss at the university. Dr. Gary and Dr. Larson were found dead in the lab they worked in the evening of his transformation. The next day, his trees crushed Dean Tightbill and he kidnapped his co-worker Rhoda Dendron. He took her back to his laboratory, strapped her to a lift and turned her into a plant mutant like him."

He pointed to another photograph from a newspaper clipping that showed full body pictures of both Bushroot and Rhoda Dendron. Her body had turned a deep green that was similar to Bushroot's color and she also had brown roots for legs. Her short hair was made of pink petals with red flecks in them and her green eyes were still covered by her purple colored glasses. The expression on her face told Quackerjack she was far from happy—in fact she looked downright depressed.

"With the transformation complete, Bushroot figured that Rhoda would have no choice but to stay with him. He didn't count on Rhoda being furious with him for mutating her against her will and she used her powers to tie him up so that she could escape. She ran into the city, hoping someone could help her change back to normal. The problem was that every person she came up to was scared of her and ran when they saw her. A few of them even got together and tried to attack her to drive the "monster" away. Bushroot found her in time to save her from her attackers, but the damage was done. From that day on, Rhoda knew she was an outcast and that was the way she would spend the rest of her life.

"She returned to Bushroot's Greenhouse with him, but only because she had nowhere else to go. I guess after that she spiraled into a deep depression. She wasn't the type who could deal with being shunned by the normal citizens of St. Canard, not ta mention how she was taken away from the career that she loved. Rhoda spent most of her days cryin' and when she wasn't doing that she barely spoke a word. Bushroot tried his best to cheer her up, but everything he stole for her only seemed to make it worse.

"Then, one day he came back to the Greenhouse and Rhoda was up and about working on some new formula. When he asked her what she was doing, she told him she was working on a mixture that would help her feel better. She claimed she hadn't felt right since the transformation and that the mixture she was making might help. Bushroot, who was elated that she was finally showing some energy, told her that he would help in any way he could to make her feel better. She told him that she needed some chemicals from the lab to help her complete her formula and he rushed out to get them for her.

"When he came back, Rhoda thanked him for getting the chemicals for her and she told him he could rest. She assured him she would be better by morning and that he should get some sleep. Bushroot did as she asked and Rhoda continued working into the night. The next morning he found her dead on the Greenhouse floor. The formula she had injected herself with froze all the sap inside of her body and effectively caused her to wilt at a rapid pace. She was long gone when Bushroot got to her and there wasn't anything he could do."

Launchpad had gotten a bit emotional during the last part of his explanation and was sniffling a bit. He took out a handkerchief and blew loudly, while Quackerjack examined the photo album and saw a picture of a grave covered with pink flowers with red flecks on them and light purple flowers. A small tree stood at the base of the grave with a heart carved into its bark. The name "Rhoda" was carved within the heart.

Quackerjack straightened up from the table with the photo album on it as Launchpad reached in to turn the page. An unusual frown had made it's way onto his beak as he absorbed what he'd just heard. He was a naturally happy, playful person, who loved the lighter side of life and looked on the bright side. This new information, however, filled him with a mixture of sadness and guilt. It made him feel serious and he didn't like taking things seriously.

"Now, ya can only imagine how Bushroot took this latest blow. Without Rhoda around, he was completely alone. No normal person would even come close to the guy without screaming and other then his plant dog Spike, he didn't have any interaction with other beings. His overwhelming guilt and despair concerning Rhoda combined with his never ending isolation finally did him in. Bushroot decided to recreate Rhoda's formula and put an end to his own miserable life."

Launchpad sighed deeply. "That's when things went completely wrong. That's when **he** came into being."

"Thornroot." The jester supplied as the pilot pointed down to the red-haired, fanged mutant. "The formula turned him into Thornroot."

"Yep, that sums it up. Rhoda's formula worked on her, but in his sadness Bushroot forgot that they were made from different types of plants. When he recreated the chemical mixture and injected himself with it, the components that made up his body reacted completely differently. Instead of destroying him, it made him stronger, changing him both physically and mentally. So drastic were the changes that it effected his mind, causing him to go mad and thus creating the plant creature with his corpse minions we know today. He's been a menace to St. Canard ever since."

Pictures of missing people from all over the city where plastered under the picture of a smirking Thornroot. Some plant corpse comparisons were set beside them, victims of Thornroot's crusade for companionship. The toymaker shuddered as he studied the comparisons, finally turning to Launchpad with some desperation.

"Is he—I mean, if he used a formula to turn him into Thornroot, then couldn't we use another formula to change him back? To make him Bushroot again?"

Launchpad just shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know enough about plants to answer that. What I can tell you is that you'd have to get near enough to Thornroot to capture him, which means you'd have to fight off an army of living dead plant people and not ta mention all the flora he has at his disposal. No, I can't see old Thorny changing, not by his own will anyway. 'Sides, and you may not know this since ya may not have been here that long, but he's not exactly popular around here. If he were ever caught, the populace would want him burnt at the stake or some equivalent to that."

Quackerjack was quiet after that, shaking his head back and forth in dismay at the revelation. He wasn't the type to believe that something wasn't possible, but he couldn't think of a solution to this problem. Launchpad stared at him for a moment, not really understanding the reason behind his guest's silence. The pilot decided to move on to another topic.

"Say, didn't cha mention somethin' about Mechavolt earlier?" He inquired with interest, hoping to break the silence.

"Hmm?" The large-billed duck responded as he let the question sink in. "Oh, yeah, I did. He was the one who told me to come here and see you."

"You must have gotten on his good side for 'im to do that. Do ya know much about him?"

"Yea-er-no, not exactly." Quackerjack amended, not knowing how much of the information he had from the old world was still valid. Trying to cover up his stutter, he took out Mr. Banana Brain to speak for him. "They say he became a villain in high school. He tried to take his revenge at the high school prom, didn't he, Lee?"

"It's Launchpad." The pilot kindly reminded the doll, then nodded. "Tried and succeeded."

This time, Quackerjack nearly dropped Mr. Banana Brain in shock. "What? That's not how the story goes."

"What story's that?" Launchpad asked slowly, confused by the sudden outburst. "Every record I've seen, including the police files on the case, show that he attacked the high school prom and nearly killed every person at it."

"Nearly every person?" Quackerjack tilted his head in a way that said he wanted to know more.

"Yeah, there was one survivor. He's a friend o' mine, actually. He's the one who, well, told me all the grizzly details of the night. It, uh, wasn't pretty needless to say."

"Could you—I mean, can you tell me what happened?"

"I could, but are ya sure ya want ta hear it?" The pilot looked at little apprehensive at the idea of telling this story. "I'm not sayin' it's grizzly just for hype ya know."

"I think I can handle it." The jester replied, thinking of all the strange and scary things that had happened to him in his lifetime. He wrung his hands in front of the pilot to show his desperation. "Besides, I really want to know what happened! Please?"

"Well, alright then," Launchpad said as he flipped to some pages in his photo album. He stopped on a drawing of an early Megavolt without many of his accessories and with a big afro. Quackerjack snorted at the ridiculous hairstyle and started giggling uncontrollably. The pilot eyed him curiously as he bent over and held his sides.

"You doin' okay there?"

"Yeah, I'm okay." Quackerjack answered once he was finally able to calm down. He straightened up and pointed down at the picture. "So, you were going to tell me about the prom?"

"Yep, I was. Now where to start?" Launchpad scratched his head for a moment, then continued speaking. "I guess I'll just start by tellin' ya that no one really knows where Megavolt came from. His first appearance was at the St. Canard High School prom and there was never any record of him before that. The police records on him aren't much help either considering how fried his brain is. I'm not sure if **he** even remembers how he got his powers."

The toymaker nodded to show that he heard him, but he was feeling very impatient for the burly duck to get to the point and it was taking all his restraint not to snap at him. "Yes. Right. So, the prom?"

"Oh, yes, well, lemme see here..." The pilot trailed off as he flipped through his book to find the right page. He stopped when he found a picture of a burned down building with flames covering the area. Several body bags were lying on the grass near the scene with firefighters and police surrounding them. "Here it is or at least here's the aftermath. You see, Megavolt came to the prom that day intent on burning down the gym with everyone inside of it. He used his powers to trap everyone inside and he knocked out the few people who tried to face him. The only one who survived was a young duckling named Drake Mallard."

Launchpad pointed to a picture of a short duck in a singed tuxedo who was talking to the police. Quackerjack thought there was something vaguely familiar about this particular duck, but he couldn't place him. He grinned a bit as he thought that this Drake guy looked almost as dorky as Megavolt did. He wondered briefly if him and Megavolt had known each other before the incident at prom.

"How'd he survive?" Quackerjack questioned as he pointed to the picture of Drake Mallard.

"Well, it was really a case of good luck." The pilot explained with a small on his beak. "Megavolt attacked him and threw him back into a set of costumes. He was knocked unconscious, but thankfully the costumes that covered him were flame retardant and he managed to escape with his life. I'm grateful for that really. Drake's a good friend of mine."

"I see." The toymaker said politely, though he was really anxious to hear more. "So, what happened after that?"

"Oh, well you can imagine how the parents reacted after what happened that night. They had lost their children and were completely stricken with grief. All of them wanted revenge on Megavolt and demanded that he be found. The police tried their best to find him and take him down, but they really didn't stand any chance against his electrical powers. He wasn't brought to justice until seven years later when the police called in Gizmoduck from Duckberg and he helped bring him down."

Launchpad pointed to Duckberg's favorite hero, the white armored, robotic Gizmoduck. Quackerjack made a face at the picture and had to keep himself from sticking his tongue out.

"After he was caught, Megavolt was sent to a new high security prison where he was locked away in one of the most secure cells in the building. He was rarely allowed to leave it and his only visitors were the doctors and psychiatrists who were supposed to examine him." A grimace went across Launchpad's beak as he turned the page in his album. "That's when all the trouble started."

There was a picture of Megavolt in his cell looking extremely emaciated. His limbs looked damaged, his body was covered in scars and infections. His entire figure looked weak and broken as he stared blankly at his cell wall. Quackerjack bit his lip in horror and pulled down on the ends of his hat as he looked at the awful shape his former teammate was in.

"One of the psychiatrists who was assigned to look after Megavolt was a woman named Prissy Lot. Her daughter, Preena Lot, was one of the kids who died at the high school prom that Megavolt burned down. Needless to say, she wanted to avenge her daughters death and what better time to do it then when he was drained of his powers and helpless to stop her."

"B-But, why didn't the police do something?" Quackerjack questioned with some alarm. "It must have been clear that something was going on if he was in this bad of shape. I mean, I know the policemen around here aren't the brightest creatures in the world, but they couldn't be **that** dense, could they?"

"No, not dense," Launchpad replied slowly, "just, well, corrupt. The police were willing to turn a blind eye to things in exchange for loads of money and if there was one thing Prissy had a lot of, it was money. She paid off the police in exchange for letting her and some of the other parents take their revenge on Megavolt. If any of the other doctors or psychiatrists started asking questions, the cops merely paid 'em off or removed them from the assignment. For over a year, they tortured him until he was a shell of his former self and nobody did a thing to stop it."

The jester looked down at the picture of his partner in crime feeling shocked and incredibly guilty. His voice came out in a choked whisper as he continued to stare at the picture of the beaten electric rat. "Th-That's terrible..."

"It is." Launchpad agreed in a sympathetic voice. "Don't get me wrong. I think what he did to those kids was awful, but that didn't make it right for the parents to do what they did. When they were done with him, Megavolt was barely even alive. Some of his limbs were so badly damaged that he couldn't use them anymore. He was broken, in body and in soul, and it seemed that nothing would ever be able to make him whole again."

"Then, how...?"

Launchpad turned a few pages into his photo album and stopped on a picture of three dark silhouettes. They were all birds of varying shapes and sizes hidden in shadows, but once Quackerjack got a good look at them he recognized them immediately.

"FOWL?" The toymaker asked in alarm, turning to the pilot with wide eyes. "FOWL helped put Megavolt back together?"

"That they did." The taller duck confirmed with a nod. "Ya see, FOWL was interested in Megavolt's electrical powers and felt that they could put them to good use. I guess they figured if they were the ones who rebuilt his body, he would be grateful to 'em and he'd agree to work for 'em without any trouble. Unfortunately for them, they never got to find out."

Quackerjack eyed him curiously as he turned the page. The next page revealed pictures of FOWL headquarters as a pile of burning rubble. Other pictures revealed the dead bodies of Steelbeak, Ammonia Pine, dozens of Egg Men and the three heads of FOWL, unveiled at last in death. The clown stared morbidly at the pictures, unable to tear his beady eyes away. After all, who or what could have destroyed an organization like FOWL so brutally?

"Shocking, isn't it? You can only imagine how the citizenry reacted when FOWL was suddenly reduced to rubble. Nobody really knew what was going on at the time and a lot of people living in this city still have no idea what happened. Luckily, I managed to piece together the puzzle, with a little help from some friends of course." The jester was about to ask for an elaboration, but Launchpad cut him off. "I'll explain more about that later. Anyway, it turns out that Mechavolt wasn't the only villain that FOWL was attempting to put back together. There was another villain who had been blown to pieces earlier that year, who they thought would make a good agent."

The next page held pictures of FOWL scientists working on a large inert body. The subject was having arms attached to the large gears on the shoulders. The remaining flesh parts showed that the robotic life form had once taken the shape of a bull.

"Taurus Bulba?" Quackerjack shouted in alarm. He had never met the renowned mob boss of St. Canard, but he had certainly heard of the big time criminal. "I thought—I mean, I heard he was dead."

"You heard right." Launchpad replied as he flipped back a few pages in his binder. He stopped when he found a picture of the mob boss when he was still just a bull. The pilot pointed down at the picture with a grimace. "Taurus Bulba was the one who started it all. St. Canard always had some problem with crime, but after Bulba got a hold of the Waddlemeyer Ramrod, the city was in chaos."

"A Waddle-whozit-whas?"

Launchpad chuckled. "That's what I said when I first heard that name. It's a machine zaps things and makes them float. I, uh, would love to go into more detail, but, well, I've never been much for this sciency stuff." He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, then continued. "The ramrod was built by a guy named Waddlemeyer and the city government seized it once Waddlemeyer had an "accident," if you know what I mean." Quackerjack nodded in confirmation, knowing very well what an accident meant in villains' speak. "It was Bulba's men who staged the "accident," but they didn't realize they needed a code to activate the machine. After that mishap, Bulba decided to kidnap the one person who might know what the code would be—his granddaughter."

The pilot pointed to another faded photograph with a grape jelly stain on the front. Quackerjack examined the old picture of a chubby looking old duck, whom he assumed was the deceased Waddlemeyer, holding a red-haired duckling in a purple jersey. The toymaker was startled to realize that the little girl in the photo was the same little girl who followed Darkwing Duck everywhere. There was a machine in the background with a color coded panel that looked to be some kind of control panel. Beside the photo was a newspaper clipping that showed a full picture of the giant ray gun with Taurus Bulba standing triumphantly next to it.

"The little girl's name was Gosalyn. After her grandfather was murdered by Bulba, she was sent to live in an orphanage. Bulba's men found Gosalyn there, kidnapped her and brought her to the mob boss so she could tell him the password. Taurus Bulba thought it would be easy to get the code out of a little girl, but what he didn't count on was that this little girl had a lot of spirit. No matter how much he threatened her, no matter how much he tried to intimidate her, Gosalyn refused to tell him what the code was."

Launchpad smiled warmly at the memory, but it faded just as quickly as it came. He sighed as he went on in a shaky voice.

"It was just too bad that Bulba managed to figure it out anyways. When Gosalyn was locked away in her cell on Bulba's ship, she would sing a lullaby to herself to help her sleep. She wasn't aware that the code had been hidden away in the song. Of course, Gosalyn's cell was monitored and eventually Bulba put two and two together. Once he had the code, he had no more use for Gosalyn. H-He threw her off his ship and...and s-she..."

Launchpad had teared up again as he was telling the story and he was clearly trying not to cry. The large duck was trembling and despite his best efforts a few tears rolled down his cheeks. He pulled out his handkerchief again and blew noisily.

"It's okay." Quackerjack told him awkwardly, not really knowing how to handle the emotional Launchpad. "I think I can fill in the rest on my own. I've always been pretty good at guessing games."

Still sniffling, the pilot nodded and finally managed to calm himself down. "I'm sorry about that. It's just—that poor kid...It's just not fair..."

"It seems like there's a lot of that going around in this city." Quackerjack muttered still not really knowing what to say. He hadn't been fond of the little red-haired girl who helped Darkwing and had in turn helped to thwart his plans, but he couldn't help feeling a small twinge of sympathy for her awful fate. "So, what happened after Bulba got the Ramrod?"

"Oh." Launchpad shook his head, trying to remember where he had been in the story. He put away his handkerchief and turned the page in his binder. The next page revealed a picture of piles of gold and another picture of Gizmoduck flying towards Bulba's ship with one fist in the air. "Well, of course, Taurus Bulba immediately enacted his plans of taking all the money from the St. Canard treasury along with all of the banks in the city. The Ramrod made all the money fly right up into Bulba's ship and the citizenry was powerless to stop it. With all the wealth he had stolen, Bulba was able to hire more goons and take large sections of St. Canard under his control. When he had robbed every bank and treasury in St. Canard, he decided to head to Duckberg to take all the money from Scrooge McDuck's money bin."

Quackerjack looked down to see a picture of Scrooge's money bin with a hole in its roof. The Waddlemeyer Ramrod, which was attached to Bulba's ship, was drawing all the gold coins from the money bin in its massive ray. The jester could have sworn he saw the frantic Scrooge McDuck panicking on the ground beside the pilfered building, but he couldn't tell for sure.

"That's when Bulba met his match. Gizmoduck was called into action as soon as Scrooge's money was stolen from him. The two fought aboard Bulba's ship and during the fight one of Giz's lasers accidentally hit the Ramrod causing the entire machine to explode. Taurus Bulba took the full brunt of the blast, hence why he was in little pieces when FOWL found his remains. Giz also took a lot of damage, but luckily he survived the blast. Good ol' Giz..." Launchpad ended wistfully.

"Hey, wait a minute." Quackerjack interjected, not wanting to hear anymore praise about his enemy Gizmoduck. He never really liked hearing about other villains losing to heroes since it had happened to him so many times in the past. "If Bulba was defeated by Gizmoduck, then how did St. Canard get so messed up afterwords? I thought it would have gone back to normal—or at least as normal as this city gets."

"Ah, but you see Taurus Bulba's demise only resulted in more problems." Launchpad answered cryptically, which made the jester pull down on the ends of his hat with impatience.

"How is that possible? How could things have gotten worse with him gone?"

"Well, the funny thing about Bulba was that not only did he manage to cow the general populace, but he also managed to cow all the other villains in the city as well. They were just as scared of him as the every day citizen was. Once he was out of the picture, well, another villainous organization decided to take the reigns and continue his efforts to dominate the city."

Quackerjack pulled out Mr. Banana Brain and waved him back and forth as he spoke in a squeaky voice. "Was it FOWL, pal?"

"Yes, it was." Launchpad replied, smiling at the doll. "With Taurus Bulba out of the way, FOWL made its attempt to take over St. Canard. They might have made more progress, if they hadn't been thwarted by SHUSH at every turn. However, despite the good intentions of SHUSH, the constant battles that they had to fight with FOWL always managed to catch innocent people in the crossfire. The entire city had become caught in a turf war between two rival organizations and the general populace felt helpless to stop it."

Launchpad turned another page in his binder and revealed pictures of St. Canard with flames covering buildings. Bodies of victims were strewn about haphazardly in the streets as the battles continued between the two rival organizations. Cowering citizens, who were often wounded, could be seen in almost every picture the clown laid his eyes on.

"Terrible, isn't it?" The pilot commented after a long period of silence. "Things went on like this for a while until FOWL decided they needed to recruit new agents to break the status quo. That's when they decided to rebuild Megavolt's body and bring Mechavolt into being. At the same time, they decided to rebuild Taurus Bulba, hoping the bull robot would become one of their top agents. Boy, was that a bad decision if I ever saw one. Bulba was anything but grateful and destroyed all of them for their efforts. SHUSH tried to stop him after that, but they were no match for his new robotic body. He wiped them out, just as he had done with FOWL."

"But if SHUSH couldn't succeed at playing hero, then who did?"

"There was only one person left who could stop him and that was my old buddy Gizmoduck." Launchpad pointed to a blurry newspaper image of Gizmoduck heading towards the wreckage of SHUSH. "The agents at SHUSH managed to send a distress signal to Gizmoduck and he came as fast as he could. Giz fought Bulba just as he had over a year before, only this time the outcome was a bit different."

The pilot sighed deeply, clearly trying to control himself again. Instead of speaking, he turned the page and pointed to a photograph of a thrashed Gizmoduck. His suit had so many dents in it that it was barely holding together and there were blood stains on the white exterior. The glass visor hiding the duck's eyes had been broken, revealing that he had suffered a head injury and that he was unconscious. The large newspaper article next to the photo showed pictures of the funeral. It looked like hundreds of people had turned up to mourn the fallen hero. The fresh grave had bundles of flowers covering its entirety, along with other mementos that the citizens had left in his honor.

"I guess I don't have ta tell ya, seeing as you can just look at the pictures, but Giz didn't survive the fight. Taurus Bulba was defeated too, so at least it wasn't for nothing. It's still hard for me to believe that Giz is really gone. He was the only hero this city really had..."

Quackerjack nodded during the silence that followed, not knowing what to say to the grieving pilot on the matter when something Launchpad said struck him. "Wait, you said 'defeated,' right? Bulba wasn't destroyed?"

"That's the thing. It's hard to say." The pilot looked at the jester with a bit of dismay clear on his face. "When the police arrived at the scene, there were pieces of Bulba's mechanical body scattered about. He had clearly been damaged, but the fact that the entire body wasn't there bothers me. The police claim that he's dead and that there was no way he could come back, but well," Launchpad rubbed the back of his head with a pensive look on his face, "with a guy as tenacious as Bulba, I wouldn't believe he was really gone unless there was solid evidence. Know what I mean?"

The colorfully clad duck nodded, knowing full well how easy it was to fool the St. Canard police force. At this point, Launchpad stretched and yawned loudly, obviously feeling tired from their long discussion. Quackerjack, not ready to relinquish Launchpad's attention or his knowledge on the world he now found himself in, spat out another quick question in the hopes of keeping the larger duck awake for a while longer. "So, what happened after Bulba disappeared?"

"Oh, well, you can imagine how everyone in St. Canard was feeling after what happened." Launchpad mumbled as he finished his yawn. "They'd experienced a lot of chaos in the past few years and they wanted some relief. They wanted someone who they could rely on to keep them safe and return them to some level of normalcy. That's when they turned to a rising and charming politician who made a bunch of promises that he'd make St. Canard safe and secure again."

"Bud Flood?" Quackerjack questioned, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer.

"You got it." Launchpad said as he yawned again. "If there's one thing Bud Flood knows how to do well, it's advertise. He persuaded all the people in St. Canard to trust him, even though his record wasn't too clean if anyone bothered to look at it." The pilot shook his head a little bit." Next thing we all knew, Bud Flood was our mayor and that just led to another set of problems." Launchpad yawned again and this time he looked really sleepy. "But that's a story you'll have to be told tomorrow. I'd try to tell ya more, but I'm about to fall asleep on by feet here."

Quackerjack pulled down on his hat and whined in the most pathetic voice he could muster, "But I want to hear **more**!"

Launchpad chuckled at the childish response. "Tell ya what. Tomorrow, I'll take you to see some people who could tell you that story better than I could. They know more about Bud Flood than me and you'll be able to ask them all the questions you want. Okay?"

The toymaker pouted and crossed his arms, but eventually he reluctantly nodded. "Okay."

"Well, then, since yer obviously gonna spend the night here tonight, let me see what I can do to make ya comfortable."

With that, the pilot went towards the back of the plane hangar and pulled out a pile of different colored blankets, along with a sleeping bag and a small mattress pad. He placed a small pillow on top of the unkempt pile and dragged it over to the clown. He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly as he looked over the rather ragged pile of bedding he had available.

"Heh, well, it's not a luxury suite or anything, but it'll do right?"

Quackerjack sighed theatrically at the disheveled pile before him and said, "I suppose."

"What would you like to sleep on?" Launchpad queried politely. "Normally, I use the sleeping bag, but if you want it, it's yours. "

"Oh, you can keep the sleeping bag," the jester replied, not entirely out of kindness. The sleeping bag didn't look like it was in the best shape, nor did he know the last time it had been washed and he wasn't sure he wanted to use it. "If I can have the blankets, I'll be happy."

"Take the mattress pad too. I can do one night without it. I don't wantcha ta be too uncomfortable."

Quackerjack laughed a little bit, remembering what his sleeping arrangements were the night before. "I've slept in worse conditions, believe me." He gathered up the blankets in a big bundle in his arms and set them down on the left side of the hangar. The clown blinked when he realized he had a blue and white patterned blanket, a green and brown colored patchwork one and a yellow and blue patterned one. An image of his former teammates popped into his head without warning and a wave of sadness came over him to think of how they no longer existed as he knew them in the world he had wished for.

"Well, if ya need anything, let me know." The burly duck informed him kindly, bringing him back to reality. "There isn't much in here to spare, but I'll do what I can."

"Do you have a sewing kit?" The jester asked as an idea occurred to him. "Some scissors would be nice to, if you got a pair."

"Um, well, I have a small sewing kit, I think." Launchpad responded as he scratched his head at the odd request. "I'm pretty sure I have scissors as well. Hang on a sec and I'll try to find em."

The pilot opened a few cabinets in the hangar and rustled a lot of items around, before he finally found what he was looking for. He picked up the small sewing kit along with a pair of scissors and handed them to the toymaker with a smile.

"I hope these'll help ya with, well, whatever ya need 'em for."

"Oh, I'll be able to put this stuff to good use, no worries." Quackerjack said flippantly as he pulled Mr. Banana Brian out of his pocket and waved him back and forth. "Thanks for these things, Ling. Oh and thanks for telling us what's going on, John. We really appreciate it."

"It's Launchpad," the pilot reminded the doll again, but he was smiling in spite of the weirdness, "and yer welcome. It's nice to have someone to talk to out here, even if it is about all the nasty villains we have in this city."

Launchpad's face fell again and he slumped his shoulders in a defeated manner. The sudden change in the other duck's mood concerned the jester a bit and he used Mr. Banana Brian's squeaky tone to voice his concern.

"What is it? What's wrong?"

"Hmm?" He questioned, having been caught up in his unhappy thoughts. "Oh, well, nothing's wrong. Not really. It's just that at times like these I wish there was someone out there, someone who'd fight them," Launchpad's gaze was on the ceiling as he voiced this wistful request. He then let out a sad chuckle. "But wishes don't come true, now do they?"

"You'd might be surprised." Quackerjack said with a wry grin.

"Maybe yer right." Launchpad mused with his own smile. "Nothin' wrong with a little positive thinkin' after all." Another big yawn escaped his beak and he started rubbing his eyes. "I'd better get some shut eye. If I don't, I think I'll be about as conscious tomorrow as those undead plant minions of Thornroot's are on any given day."

"Good night Launchpad." The colorfully clad duck said to him, feeling grateful to have found one friendly face in the new St. Canard. "Thanks for letting me stay here, by the way."

"No problem." Launchpad waved it off as no big deal and unrolled his sleeping bag. He turned off the lights, only leaving two dim lights on for them to see with. Soon he was curled up inside of it, looking as cozy as could be."Goodnight—um, what did you say your name was."

Quackerjack blinked as he realized he had never actually introduced himself. He chuckled to himself a little at the mistake. "It's Quackerjack."

"Well, goodnight Quackerjack." Launchpad said, sounding as though he was already half-asleep. "I'll see ya in the morning."

"See ya then." He said in return, then retired to his own side of the plane hangar. He sat next to the blankets, but he had no intention of sleeping. The clown couldn't think of any time he had been less tired. His head was still filled with all the information Launchpad had given him and he was still trying to process it all. Most of all, he was still trying to come to terms with the consequences of his wish.

_This is no fun. _Quackerjack moped to himself as he drew his skinny legs under his chin and pouted. _No fun at all! Especially now that none of the other Fearsome Five members know me. They're nothing like they used to be! Bushy's gone from being a weed wimp to a psycho flower. I never thought I'd see the day when I'd actually appreciate his wimpiness._ A smirk appeared on the toymaker's bill, but it faded when he thought about what Launchpad had told him about Rhoda. _Of course, with what happened to him, I guess I can't really blame him too much. Then, there's Mechavolt, who's body was broken so badly it had to be mended with metal parts just so he could be held together. I don't know what Liquidator's problem is yet, but I don't think he used to be __**this**__ bad. Old Steelie's kicked the bucket and so has all of FOWL. Bulba may still be out there somewhere, waiting to make his next move to take over St. Canard. What a mess..._

Quackerjack buried his head in his knees for a moment, not knowing what he should do. After a moment, he lifted his head from his knees and dragged the green and brown patterned blanket onto his lap. He picked up the scissors and began to cut. The jester decided that he had to keep himself busy to avoid the depressing thoughts that were circling around his head. He would find a way to fix everything. He had to, but until then he would work on this new project, a project that would take him some time to finish. Quackerjack worked on it well into the night until his eyes began closing by themselves and he finally laid back, giving into sleep's heavy draw.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, I've finally updated this story. I wish I could say the next update will come soon, but that might turn out to be false advertising, as Liquidator would say. ;) I can tell you that I think this story should be finished in another two to three chapters. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the latest installment!


	5. The Felonious Five

**The Felonious Five**

* * *

Disclaimer: Thornroot is Jamcub's and Darkwing Snark's original character. Puppetcore is the creator of the Bud Flood politician concept used in this story. I asked permission to use these characters. Karl Fizzy is my OC. The rest belong to Disney.

* * *

Quackerjack groaned as he found himself being shaken from his deep sleep. He opened his beady black eyes to see Launchpad standing to the side of him with a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm sorry that I had ta wake ya like this," Launchpad said as the jester bestowed upon him a less then happy look, "but we need to get goin' if we're going to make it to my friend's house. It takes about an hour to get there by public transit and since its Fall right now we don't have that many hours of daylight. I don't really want to have another night of running away from Thornroot's minions, do you?"

Quackerjack blanched at the idea and shook his head. Just then, his stomach gave off a loud growl and large hunger pangs began to make their presence known. Upon hearing the sound, Launchpad walked over to a table that had a brown bag sitting on top of it. He picked it up and walked back over to the groggy clown, presenting it to him as a gift. When the large-billed duck looked at the label, he realized it was fast food from Hamburger Hippo.

"I know it's nothin' fancy or anything, but its all we got around here." The pilot explained when the clown made no move to eat the food from the bag. "'Sides, the breakfast menu from Hamburger Hippo's pretty good. Their waffle, egg and syrup sandwich is one of my favorites. I usually put some mayonnaise on mine, but I didn't know if you'd like that."

The toymaker held back a gag at the mental image he had of such a sandwich. However, his growling stomach won over his imagination and he opened the brown bag to take out its contents. "I don't think that would be agreeable with my palate. Anyway, thanks for getting this for me, Launchpad."

"No problemo." He answered with a smile. It disappeared when he saw the remaining tatters of the blankets he had lent to the clown. "I see you, uh, made short work of those blankets."

"Oh, these?" Quackerjack replied innocently. "Well, they were a little on the ratty side, but they did suit my purposes pretty well. I'm sure you won't miss them."

"I guess I would agree with ya, if I had some spares. Those were all I got and it's not like I get a big salary takin' care of the planes in this hangar." The pilot said as he rubbed the back of his head in consternation.

The toymaker's expression immediately changed to one of contrition. He hadn't exactly been fond of Launchpad in the past, with him being Darkwing's sidekick and all, but after the kindness the large duck had shown him he couldn't help feeling a bit of guilt for his actions. The colorfully clad duck pulled Mr. Banana Brain from his pocket and waved him back and forth as he spoke. "Sorry about the mess, Tess. We promise to buy you some new ones with some of our money. Scouts honor."

"It's Launchpad," the burly duck reminded the doll with a small smile, "and thanks."

"Don't worry about it." Quackerjack said with a wave of his hand. "So, refresh my memory. Why do we want to go see these friends of yours again?"

"Well, you wanted to know about what happened with the Liquidator, right?" The jester nodded an enthusiastic affirmative. "These friends of mine can tell you a lot more about his background then I could. Morgana's too, though I don't know if you know about her or if you're even interested."

"Oh, I know about her all right." The toymaker spoke in an unhappy tone. "She was with Bud Flood when they signed me up for that free apartment of theirs. What was her deal anyway?"

"She's a piece of work and _really_ creepy to boot." Launchpad pulled at his collar nervously as he said this, looking very uncomfortable. "Again, the people I'm bringing you to see can tell you more about her than I could, which is great since I really don't like talkin' about her."

The jester couldn't help by smile a little at the big, quivering duck in front of him. He knew that Darkwing's sidekick was really a big softie at heart, but still it was amusing that such a large being could be frightened of someone smaller than he was. Of course, with the magic Morgana possessed, Quackerjack had never been eager to tangle with her either. He decided to change the subject so that Launchpad would have a chance to recover his bearings.

"By the way, these friends of yours sure seem to know a lot about villains. Where do they get all their information from?"

"I don't want ta tell ya much here," Launchpad replied cryptically, "but let's just say that not all the residents of St. Canard have given up on the city. Some of those residents have taken to watching the actions of some of the nastier villains in this town to try and thwart some of their plans."

"Really?" Quackerjack questioned feeling a bit intrigued. "Have they been very successful?"

"Um, I guess that depends on how you define successful." The pilot responded slowly with a sheepish look on his face. "They have managed to save a few lives here and there and they've stopped some of the smaller plots a few of the villains have had. It may not seem like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but at least it's something."

The clown rolled his eyes at that. "Which means that they aren't any closer to wresting power from the villains then any of the rest of the residents of this city are."

"Maybe that's true, but at least they're trying." Launchpad replied with some force. "They meet the first Sunday of every month to discuss how to help protect the city and share intelligence they gathered. It may not be much, but it's better than nothing. "

The toymaker thought over what he said about the dates of their meetings. "The first Sunday of every month? That's today, isn't it?"

"Yup. It's pretty good timing for us actually. You'll be able to get all the answers you want about St. Canard pretty easily from them. Also, if ya decide ya want to leave town, these are the guys to talk to."

The sad look on Quackerjack's face clashed greatly with his colorful and fun attire. Launchpad put his hands out in front of him, now regretting that he had mentioned the option. "Whoa, uh, you don't have ta decide right now. We got another hour until the next bus into town arrives and you can think about it after you hear what my friends have to say. It's all up to you though."

"Yeah, I know." The jester responded without much enthusiasm. "Thanks Launchpad."

"It's no problem, really." Launchpad told him, not really understanding why the large-billed duck in front of him would be upset about leaving St. Canard. "Well, I'll leave ya be so you can eat yer breakfast. I'll be workin' on some of the planes in the hangar. Just give a holler if ya need me."

"Sure thing." Quackerjack said with a forced smile. The pilot nodded to him, then walked away towards the other side of the plane hangar. The despondent clown took out his breakfast sandwich from Hamburger Hippo and ate it more because he needed to then because he wanted to. When he finished the greasy thing, he crumpled up the bag and tossed it in a nearby garbage can. Then, he sat back down on top of the shredded blankets and gathered his creations in his arms.

The toymaker had crafted three dolls in the image of his friends. Bushroot was the first doll he had started and he had managed to finish it in the night. The purple hair on top was a little thin, but he felt that flaw could be easily fixed if he had a bit more material. He made Megavolt's doll second, though he needed some more cloth to finish off accessorizing the doll. Finally, Liquidator's doll was the last he started and he wasn't quite finished sewing it up. They were all good likenesses of his former teammates and even seeing them in this small form put him a little more at ease.

_I wish you guys were still here. _Quackerjack thought as he held them in his arms. _I mean, you are here, but not like you used to be. I wanted St. Canard to be our playground, but now it's more like one giant prison. It's gotten so bad now that I may have to leave this city. I really don't want to though. St. Canard is and always has been my home. How can I leave my favorite play place? Then again, with all the changes, how can I stay?_

The jester didn't have any answer for his musings. He simply held the dolls close to him, trying to comfort himself about his situation.

* * *

Far away on the other side of the city, Bud Flood was sitting on his plush office chair sipping his morning coffee. He was still feeling quite irked at the events of the previous night and would have been quite happy to have a personal day for himself. An unexpected message, however, kept him from his wish and made him come into the office for an important meeting. If it had been any other person who had contacted him, he would have told them off, but the enterprising dog knew better then to defy the wishes of this particular contact.

There were very few people working in the mayor's office that day, but a quick phone call made sure that his favorite secretary was one of them. Also, the witch's presence had also been requested by the person who had summoned him to the meeting. He waited patiently for a few minutes and was rewarded for it when a large plume of red and black smoke burst into his office with a loud pop. When it dissipated, the familiar curvy form of his girlfriend in her typical black dress was revealed to him.

"You called?" Morgana asked in a sultry voice. She immediately floated across the room and sat down on his lap, gracing him with a short kiss. He laughed at the enthusiastic greeting and placed his hands on her shoulders to get her attention.

"I did, but not for that, at least not yet. Unfortunately, I just got a message from one of the higher ups in the underworld. You know the one." Bud's face went from lighthearted and charming, to serious and brooding with the last sentence. Morgana sat up straight and her green eyes narrowed as she understood who the being in question was.

"It's him, isn't it? We haven't heard from him in a while. What does he want?"

"He's requesting a meeting be held with all important parties in attendance. They're all going to be here shortly."

Morgana's eyes narrowed at the implications of this sudden gathering. "Then, do you think it's time?"

"I believe that nine out of ten character analysts would deem that to be the case." An eager grin spread across the mayor of St. Canard's face. It was soon returned by his secretary, whose green eyes gleamed with excitement.

"Well, it's about time." The witch told him as she pushed her long black hair back over her shoulders. "We've certainly been patient about it. After all the hard work we've done, the two of us deserve to branch out and claim more of St. Canard's assets for ourselves."

"I couldn't have said it better myself, my dear." Bud Flood complimented with an admiring look on his face. She grinned widely and she leaned down for a long kiss. They held together for a long moment and just as they were about to share another kiss, a low, dry voice caught their attention.

"I see the two of you still can't control yourselves."

A figure covered from head to toe in a brown trench coat, wearing a matching brown hat to cover his petals was standing in front of the door to the office. He pulled it shut, none too kindly, and threw off his attire onto the floor. He reached down to his waist and unfastened a belt that had helped tow his sharp rake on his back. He slung it over his shoulder and eyed the other two occupants of the room with open dislike.

"Such childish antics do not befit two of the greatest villains of St. Canard." Thornroot remarked coolly.

Morgana threw back her head with a cruel laugh, then turned back to him and said, "Is that jealousy I'm hearing Thornroot? Perhaps you could assuage those feelings, if you ever found any company outside of your dead plant minions that is."

"Don't push me." Thornroot growled as he swung his rake down from his shoulder meaningfully. Unimpressed, Morgana raised one hand in the plant mutant's direction, with red sparks dancing from her fingertips.

"Try me." She spoke in an icy voice. "I dare you."

The two glared angrily at each other before an amused chuckle broke their concentration. Bud Flood folded his hands together in front of him and looked at the two parties in question.

"Now, now, there's no need for this, is there?" The dog spoke in a smooth and appeasing manner. "We did not partake in a kiss just to shove it in your face, Thornroot. I would advise you not to take things so personally." The red eyes that eyed the former salesman were still mutinous and his beak was curled back in a snarl, so he decided to continue with another point. "Besides, you know how **he** gets when our group starts arguing. He especially won't be pleased to find us bickering if this is the important day I think it is."

The red-haired plant mutant still had a frown on his beak and a glare on his face, but at the mention of the unnamed body, his posture slackened and the aggression vanished from his form. He swung the rake back over his shoulder with a short huff.

"Whatever you say, you scheming cur."

"Classy as always, Thorny." Bud said with a forced smile and sipped at his coffee. Another grumpy huff was his only response. Before anything more could come out of this discussion, the door to Bud Flood's office opened and another cloaked figure walked inside. After the door shut behind him, he threw off the dark black covering with a flourish, revealing a rat in a yellow jumpsuit with several mechanical pieces holding him together.

"Well, well, look what the cat dragged in." Thornroot sneered with derision clear in his voice. "How have you been Mechavolt? Saved any light bulbs from enslavement lately?"

Snickers from all three parties filled the room as a faint amount of red appeared on the rat's cheeks. "As a matter of fact, I have saved a couple this month. It's another victory for my light bulb liberation front. " Mechavolt replied defensively.

"It must be nice to take such joy from such a small achievement." The mayor of St. Canard said as Morgana chuckled a bit as she sat on his lap. "Then again, it only makes sense that the small-minded would be satisfied with small earnings."

"Just like it only takes someone with a big head to never be able to look at anything but the big picture," Mechavolt muttered to himself.

"Did you say something, Sparky?" Bud asked with narrowed eyes.

"No, nothing!" Mechavolt responded quickly with his hands in front of him.

"I didn't think so," came the smug reply from the mayor of St. Canard.

Morgana was about to take her turn at poking fun at the electric rat when a thick voice made her close her beak.

"I trust you **children** are done bickering." It said in a Russian accent. The voice was coming from the vicinity of Mechavolt's left arm. "I sincerely hope you are because we have much more important business to attend to and I don't like having my time wasted on petty nonsense."

All the other occupants of the room immediately quieted down and straightened up at the sound of the voice. A spark of electricity traveled from Mechavolt's arm up towards the television. Morgana stood up and positioned herself close to Bud as they all watched the flat screen TV on the wall. Finally, it turned itself on, revealing a large bull with a red helmet on his head. One of his eyes was an orange light and there was a laser gun on top of his helmet. Taurus Bulba panned the room quickly, to be sure that everyone was there and then began speaking in a calm voice.

"I have called all of you here today to make an important status report. The item I have been searching for will be arriving here tomorrow evening."

"Then, does that mean—?" Mechavolt spoke meekly and shut his mouth tightly when the bull talked over him.

"Yes! The time has come to enact the final stage of our plan and take St. Canard for ourselves. Once I have used the item, the entire city will be at our mercy." A cruel, sadistic smile spread across Taurus Bulba's face as he said this. "Of course, as my loyal associates, you will all be rewarded. One quarter of the city will be given to each of you, to do with as you please."

"But, then, what will you—?" Mechavolt tried again, but was soon interrupted.

"I will be in charge of the city's _finances_ and the finances of any other city we conquer. I'm sure there aren't any _objections_ to this plan, but if there are you are welcome to speak up."

The face on the screen looked at each of his minions in turn, knowing full well that no one was going to speak against him. A self-satisfied expression was one his face when it was clear that no response was coming.

"Then, it is settled. We will meet at the St. Canard Natural History museum at sundown tomorrow to fulfill the final phase of our plans. Be sure to bring the container I need." Bulba added, staring at Mechavolt with an expression that told him that he would pay dearly if he forgot.

"Yes, sir, Taurus Bulba, sir. It will be there." The electric rat nodded profusely, speaking in a quick squeaky voice.

"Excellent." The bull said with an air of smugness. He then turned his attention to the mayor of St. Canard. "Have your lackies detected any signs of trouble among the populace? Any unwanted displays of spirit?"

"Nothing that couldn't be dealt with," Bud replied smoothly, before putting a hand under his chin and thinking something over, "though I met a very strange duck yesterday who has given me a few reasons for concern. I had never seen the duck before in my life and yet somehow he knew about my secret identity."

"Really?" Taurus Bulba responded with a bit of intrigue in his tone. "What did he look like?"

"He was a duck with a large bill who was a bit shorter than me and he was wearing a very colorful costume. Career analysts suggest that he is some type of clown."

"A clown, you say? Was he wearing a red and purple colored jester outfit with a harlequin hat?" Thornroot questioned with only moderate interest.

"Yes, that sounds like a fairly accurate description. Morgana, could you provide us with a visual aid, perhaps?"

"You have to ask?" She responded teasingly, before she drew a circle with her finger. She spoke a few words and the circle turned white. A moment later, the image of a large-billed costumed duck appeared in the center of the white sphere.

"It seems we've met the same strange duck." The red-haired mutant told the others as they took a good look at the image Morgana had made for them. "I met him two days ago at my Greenhouse. He came right up to my door and did something, well, unexpected."

"What was it?" Mechavolt asked, even though Thornroot's posture made it clear he didn't want to elaborate.

"He—ugh, he gave me a hug." The plant mutant had a disgruntled look on his face as he finished the statement. The other villains in the room blinked at the odd revelation.

"Is he insane?" Bud Flood queried with his head tilted to the side.

"That's what I asked him, though I think the answer was obvious." The red-haired botanist muttered replied, scowling at the memory of the duck and how he escaped. "He kept calling me by my old name, which I despise, and telling me that he and I were on a team together that was run by some duck I'd never heard of before. The duck seemed like a total loon to me and I wouldn't even be mentioning the incident at all, except that the team name he gave was so oddly close to our own. The strange duck told me I was a member of the 'Fearsome Five.'"

The others exchanged glances at this and Taurus Bulba began to look displeased. He turned his frosty gaze onto the plant duck, who, to his credit, only withered slightly.

"Buffoon though he might be, that he seems to have some information about our group makes me unhappy. Why did you not dispose of him?"

"It wasn't for lack of trying." Thornroot replied, with a bit of offense clear in his voice. "I tried to capture him, but he turned out to be quite nimble. In addition, he seemed to have some fancy gizmos with him, which helped him escape. I think he must be some kind of nutty inventor."

"Insider reports would say that you're right about that." Bud interjected when Thornroot finished. "I also made an attempt to dispose of him, but he threw some gadget of his at me and escaped while I was stunned. He's quite a slippery one, if I do say so myself."

The smile faded from Bud's lips as Bulba's eyes turned red and a roar filled the room. "Imbeciles! Are you two _really_ so incompetent that you can't even eliminate a single, crazy duck? Fools, both of you!" The raging bull turned his eyes towards the canine and plant mutant, steam spewing from his helmet. The mayor of St. Canard resembled a kicked puppy after the statement, while Thornroot crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes in annoyance at the accusation. Slowly, the steam faded, but the anger was still clear in his voice as he turned his attention to the electric rat.

"You! Mechavolt! Have you met this crazy mallard these two dimwits have been talking about?"

The rat squeaked at the sudden attention and thought fast. He did actually remember meeting the same jester from the day before, but for some reason he didn't quite understand he didn't want to tell his boss the truth. It was madness, lying to Bulba for the sake of someone he had met for a few minutes, but then, he had never been entirely sane. He opened his mouth to speak, hoping that his quavering voice wouldn't give him away.

"Maybe I did...I don't remember." Mechavolt said quickly, scratching his head.

"Typical." Thornroot replied under his breath as he rolled his eyes.

"Yes, quite typical." Taurus Bulba agreed with a sneer on his face. "With how fried your brain is, it's a wonder I keep you around at all. Lucky for you, you have your uses." Mechavolt lowered his eyes and clenched his fists as snickers filled the room. They died down as Bulba turned to the final member of their team.

"Morgana, have you also met with this clown these two are talking about?"

"I saw him yesterday when he applied for Bud's special residency program." A knowing smile appeared on her bill at the statement before she continued casually, "Would you like me to try my hand at ridding ourselves of him?"

"Yes, I was just about to suggest the idea myself. Do not fail me Morgana." He laid a harsh eye on her as he stared at her from the video screen. "I have little patience for failure."

"I understand sir. I have no intention of failing."

"Very well then." Bulba said with satisfaction in his tone. "I give you permission to do your worst, if it's necessary to get the job done." The witch nodded her assent with a cruel glint in her eyes as she thought over the possibilities. "After all, once I get what I want we'll be unstoppable." He raised his mechanical arms in exultation. "My fellow villains, this is the rise of the Felonious Five!"

The mechanical bull on the screen began to laugh triumphantly and three others joined him in his merriment. They failed to notice that one person in the room had only made a half-hearted effort to join them. Mechavolt knew he should have been happy about this turn of events, but for some reason he was feeling apprehensive and uncertain. He wasn't sure of the source of this uneasiness, but the shadows that danced around the faces of every person in the room certainly didn't help. He sighed to himself, thinking that there was nothing he could do about it now.

* * *

A little over an hour later, Quackerjack and Launchpad arrived at a small house on Avian Way, which was apparently the headquarters for the city's small resistance movement. Launchpad walked up to the door and rung the bell, waiting patiently for an answer. It didn't take long for the door to open and a short mallard dressed in a pink shirt and sweater to appear out of it. The short mallard smiled warmly at Launchpad when he saw him, greeting him with some enthusiasm.

"Hi, Launchpad. How have you been?"

"Been doin' good, or well, as good as I can be in a city like this."

The small duck laughed a little at that. "Boy, I know what you mean. Well, come in and get yourself warmed up. We can just as easily catch up inside."

"Great, but first I want to introduce you to my guest here." The pilot put an arm around Quackerjack, who had been studying the small duck in front of him. He seemed awfully familiar somehow. "This is Quackerjack, a guy who I saved from Thornroot's minions yesterday. He'll be, uh, requiring some of our assistance, if you know what I mean."

"Right." The other duck responded cryptically. He took a long moment to gaze at the jester's clothing as if he didn't know quite what to make of it. He said nothing, but he did raise an eyebrow at the strange garb. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Quackerjack. My name is Drake Mallard. We'll be sure to get you the help you need."

_Drake Mallard?_ Quackerjack thought to himself, then it dawned on him who this was. _Oooohhh, this is the guy who survived Megavolt's attack at prom. Geez, he still looks as dorky now as he did then. _The toymaker had to hold back a mean-spirited chuckle as he was led into the house.

It was a small house, but it did seem rather cozy. Everything was neat, tidy and well organized, except for a long table in the living room that was covered in newspapers. Most of the pages seemed to be about disappearances or crimes in the city. Probably used for research on the villains of the city or so the clown surmised.

Once Drake shut the door, Quackerjack surveyed the room and found that there were seven other people in it. Five of them were children and two of them seemed to be a married couple. The married couple was an obese duck with a Hawaiian shirt on and a thin goose woman wearing a blue dress. Two of the children in the room seemed to resemble the married couple and the jester assumed they were the pairs' children. The other three little ducklings all had the same face and were the same size, but had different colored clothes on. One was clad in red clothes, another in blue clothes and the last in green clothes, all of which seemed like they had seen better days.

"Quackerjack, I'd like you to meet Herb and Binkie Muddlefoot," the married couple waved hello, "their two sons Tank and Honker Muddlefoot," the older boy just crossed his arms and looked away from Launchpad, while Honker gave a tentative wave, "and those three over there are Huey, Dewey and Louie from Duckberg. These guys are the ones who are helping Drake and I take back St. Canard."

"This is it?" The clown asked skeptically. "This is your big resistance movement? No wonder you haven't been able to do much..." He muttered the last bit under his breath, but Drake still heard him and turned on him in offense.

"Hey! They may not look like much, but they're better than all the other saps in this city who just sit around while St. Canard falls down all around us." The short duck crossed his arms in front of him before continuing. "Besides, I'll have you know that not all of us are here. There's still one other person who usually joins us at these meetings."

"Yes, because that would bring your members up to ten including you and Launchpad. How terrifying." Quackerjack retorted sarcastically.

"Why you little—" Drake snapped, rolling up his sleeves as if he was preparing for a fight. The jester wasn't at all intimidated and was about to fight back when the pilot got inbetween him and the approaching mallard.

"Now, now, there's no need for that, is there? We should be coming up with strategies to help rid the city of those crooks, not fighting amongst ourselves, right?"

Drake let out a long sigh and lowered his fists. "Yes, I suppose you're right. I don't mean to get so angry all the time. It's just so frustrating when we have to wait around, doing nothing, while those creeps are doing who knows what to St. Canard."

"Believe me Drake, I know how ya feel." The burly duck assured him before moving on to another topic. "Speaking of that person, why isn't she here yet?"

Drake looked up at his friend with a look of anticipation on his face. "She went in to the office today because she got wind of some big meeting Bud Flood was having. With all the secrecy about it, I have a feeling that something big is about to go down. I think—"

"Hey, Drakemeister." Herb Muddlefoot had come up behind the short mallard and gave him a friendly slap on the back. The slap was so hard that it caused Drake to go forward a few steps. "You got any food that we could have, sport? I'mma little hungry, doncha know."

"I don't think I have a lot." Drake replied through grit teeth. "I think all I have are some potato chips, but I'm sure you don't want—"

"Potato chips! That sounds great. Can ya show me where they are, Drakemeister."

The short duck let out an exasperated sigh and waved for his portly acquaintance to follow him. "Sure, Herb. Follow me."

Quackerjack watched as Drake Mallard departed to the kitchen before turning back to Launchpad. "Does that happen often?"

The pilot laughed at the question. "Actually, yes. Herb's a bit of a chow hound and Drake's a little too polite to say no."

"Well, it's his fault for being a pushover," the toymaker remarked offhandedly. "Now, you said somebody in here can tell me about Bud Flood."

Launchpad nodded. "Three someones actually. Huey, Dewey and Louie are the ones you need to speak to. Let's go over there and talk to them."

The pair walked the short distance across the room and they sat down in front of the three ragged looking little ducklings. The three boys perked up immediately at the sight of Launchpad and ran up to give him a hug. When they were finished, the trio sat back down and Launchpad got down to business.

"It's good to see you again boys." He told them warmly.

"It's good to see you again too, Launchpad. "Louie responded with a big smile.

"Do you three mind having a little chat with me and Quackerjack before the meeting officially starts? Quackerjack here needs some questions answered and I think you three are the ones he needs to talk to."

"Not at all." Dewey replied quickly. "We're happy to answer anything within reason."

"Thank you boys." Launchpad spoke to them, then turned back to the colorfully clad duck. "Well, we probably have some time to spare until the real business starts here. In the meantime, these three can tell ya about Bud Flood. They've had a bit more experience with him than most." Launchpad told him with a hint of regret in his voice.

Quackerjack turned dubiously to the three young ducklings sitting in front of him. How could these three little ragged ducklings know anything about someone as powerful as Bud Flood. Still, he had nothing better to do at the moment and he decided he may as well ask them for some information. He just hoped the boys could tell an entertaining story.

"So, you three know about Bud Flood and how he became Liquidator?" The jester questioned, deciding to get the ball rolling. "Can you tell me what happened with him?"

"Why do you want to know?" The red clad duckling asked sharply, a look of distrust on his face. It was then that the large-billed duck noticed how angry the three little boys were at the mere mention of Bud Flood. He was trying to think of a way to dispel their foul moods when the pilot came to his aid.

"Take it easy, boys." Launchpad cut in soothingly. "I know that the three of you don't like to talk about it and after all you've been through, I don't blame you, but Quackerjack here just wants to know the truth. I think that the more people who know what's really going on here, the better off we all are. So, do you think you can tell him the story? I'll help you if it gets too hard."

"Yeah," Dewey said in a small voice, "yeah, I guess we can."

The three ducklings looked a bit more composed after Launchpad's speech and turned to each other to decide who should be the one to explain everything.

"I think you should do it, Huey." Louie said after a moment's pause. "You always tell it the best."

"Thanks, Louie." Huey replied with a smile. "I'll try my best to do it justice. So, you want to know about that slime ball Bud Flood?" Quackerjack nodded. "Well, then, let's start at the beginning."

"The three of us met Bud Flood about three years ago at our uncle's business gathering in Duckberg. It was a huge event for all the prominent businessmen from Duckberg, St. Canard and other cities to meet and make contacts. Around lunch time, our uncle was approached by a tall canine in a fancy business suit, who wanted to talk about investment strategies and whether or not our uncle would be interested in making a deal with him. He seemed nice enough to us at first, but our uncle turned him down and told the canine that he wasn't going to make any deals with him.

"When the guy left, we asked our uncle why he didn't accept the offer and he said it was because he knew a dishonest lout when he saw one. He told us that the guy was a smooth talker, but an experienced businessmen like himself could see right through that charm and to be honest, the canine had reminded our uncle too much of Glomgold. "Mark my words," he had told the three of us that day, "that dog's going to be caught cheating and that'll be the end of him."

_Glomgold?_ Quackerjack thought to himself, trying to remember who that was. _Oh, right! The rich businessmen in Duckberg who's in league with the underworld. How would their uncle know him?_

"Who **is** your uncle anyway?" The toymaker questioned when there was a pause in the story.

"Our uncle was Scrooge McDuck." Dewey piped in with a voice full of pride. "He was one of the greatest ducks to ever live in Duckberg."

Quackerjack's eyes nearly fell out of his head at the revelation. "Scrooge McDuck? The richest duck in the world?" He paused when something the blue clad duck said caught up to him. "Wait, what do you mean, 'was?'"

"They'll get to that." Launchpad interjected gently as the boys began to look downtrodden. "Go on boys, you're doing really well. Please continue."

"Thanks, Launchpad." Huey replied with a small smile. "Well, a year later during a really hot summer, we saw a report on the news saying that the water supply in St. Canard was being befouled. Uncle Scrooge immediately suspected that Bud Flood was behind it, but without any evidence there was little he could do about it. That's when Uncle Scrooge made a call to Karl Fizzy, the owner of Koo Koo Fizzy Water, to ask some questions. Mr. Fizzy was one of the top bottled water businessmen in St. Canard and he'd been friends with Uncle Scrooge a long time.

"Karl confirmed what Uncle Scrooge suspected and also revealed that there was very little that they could do about it. The police had been bribed by Bud Flood and weren't about to run any case against him. He told us that the other bottled water businessmen in the area were furious about it and they kept talking about doing something to stop Bud Flood. Uncle Scrooge said he understood their frustration, but advised him and his business partners not to take the law into their own hands. Mr. Fizzy agreed with that and said he wasn't about to do anything drastic. Unfortunately, he was the only one who felt that way. The others business owners decided they had to take action against Bud Flood." Huey let out a long sigh. "That's when things got ugly."

"Real ugly." Louie added with a shudder.

"Two weeks later, Uncle Scrooge received a call really late at night from Karl Fizzy. We were in our Uncle's office when it happened and we weren't sure what was going on at the time, only that Mr. Fizzy sounded very shaken. Uncle Scrooge ushered us from the room and told us to go back to bed. Of course, we weren't about to miss out on whatever they were going to talk about, so we picked up the phone in another room and listened in.

"Mr. Fizzy was talking so fast, that Uncle Scrooge asked him to calm down and start over from the beginning so that he could understand what had happened. He took a deep breath and told Uncle Scrooge that the other bottle water company heads and himself had invited Bud Flood to a meeting to discuss the recent pollution of their bottled water. The meeting was a pretense so that they could lure Bud Flood into a false sense of security and get him to divulge information that could lead to his conviction and arrest. Or at least, that's what Mr. Fizzy had been told.

"In reality, the other bottled water company owners had planned to poison Bud Flood in order to get rid of him. They bought a strong poison from a woman who lived in a creepy mansion downtown, a clear poison they were assured would leave no evidence that could be traced back to them. When they served glasses of water at the meeting, they put the concoction into Bud Flood's glass and gave it to him to drink.

"After he took a big gulp of it, he began to cough violently. Mr. Fizzy said that he got up to try and help him, but stepped back when blood began to come out of Bud Flood's mouth. His entire body started to emit white smoke and he gave off a wretched scream as his insides began to melt. The whole room watched in horror as his body sagged and was reduced to nothing but a pile of goo on the floor. There was dead silence for a moment before Mr. Fizzy and a few others began to wretch at the sight.

"That's when the other businessmen told Mr. Fizzy what their plan had been and that he'd better keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. They told him that Bud Flood had deserved his fate and if he told anyone about what had happened, they would just claim he had been in on it too. After that, they all left the room in a hurry and Karl Fizzy had run back to his factory to call Uncle Scrooge. He sounded really frightened and asked what he should do."

Quackerjack shuddered at the description of Bud Flood's death, feeling a little queasy himself. Liquidator's fate in his own dimension had been bad enough, but that sounded even more gruesome. He couldn't help but feel some sympathy for his former watery teammate.

"Uncle Scrooge advised him to go to the authorities and explain what had happened. He assured Mr. Fizzy that he would back him up on his story one hundred percent and even bail him out of jail if he had to. Mr. Fizzy thanked Uncle Scrooge and said he would do just that when an eerie voice came over the line. It was hard to make out what it said, because it sounded like it was underwater, but the three of us think it said, "Hello, Karl." There was a moment of silence and then we heard Mr. Fizzy whisper the name 'Bud' over the phone. Shortly after, we heard a long scream and then there was total silence. Uncle Scrooge kept calling out to Mr. Fizzy, but it was too late." Huey, Dewey and Louie all looked remarkably sad as Huey continued the story in a small voice. "That was the last we ever heard from Karl Fizzy.

"Uncle Scrooge called the authorities in St. Canard to ask them to go to the Koo Koo Fizzy Water factory to check on Karl Fizzy. The police found him dead, soaking wet in a puddle of water. They told our uncle that the autopsy pointed to drowning as the cause of death, but they had no idea who the culprit might be. In the next week and a half, similar cases popped up all over St. Canard until all the bottled water company owners had turned up dead. Uncle Scrooge was sure that Bud Flood was somehow responsible for it all, but all reports claimed that he was missing and couldn't be found. Once again, there was no way for Uncle Scrooge to prove Bud Flood's guilt in the matter.

"Then, two weeks later, Bud Flood turned up again looking as healthy as he ever had. He told the authorities he had been on vacation and that there was no way he could have been involved in the deaths of his colleagues. Of course, Uncle Scrooge didn't believe a word of it, but he was also completely shocked to see the canine alive and well again. He decided to hire a private investigator to delve into the matter. That's when we found out his connection to the witch Morgana Mawcaber."

Quackerjack took a moment to process the information, the put two and two together. "Morgana was the one that those business guys got the poison from, wasn't she?"

Huey nodded. "She was. One of the businessmen must have divulged that information to him before they died and Bud Flood was eager to get revenge on the person that sold them the poison. He figured out Morgana's location and went to deal with her, but when he actually saw her, he had a change of heart."

The clown looked curiously at them about the last remark. Dewey, whose bill had twitched a little at the expression, decided to elaborate.

"As far as we know, there are only two things that Bud Flood truly loves: money and pretty girls. Morgana may be a creepy witch, but she is pretty. "

"Yeah, she is..." A voice cut in wistfully. The group turned to see that Drake had back to listen to their conversation. A small blush tinted his feathers as they all continued to stare at him for his admission. "Well, she is!" He said defensively. He then looked at the ground, seeming a bit sad. "It's just too bad she went down the path she did. She wasn't always so bad..."

"I don't know if she was ever that good," Launchpad mused out loud. Drake gave him a withering glare for the remark and he put his hands up, hastily adding, "Then again, it could have just been Bud Flood's influence."

"Not that this isn't interesting," remarked and irritating Quackerjack, but shouldn't we get back to the story?"

"Oh, right." Launchpad said as he rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, Huey. Go ahead and continue.

"Well, according to our investigator, Bud Flood realized that he and Morgana had quite a bit in common. They formed an alliance and Morgana used her magic to help Bud Flood retain his flesh and blood form, while still being able to revert to his watery form. That's when he gave his watery form a name and the split between Bud Flood and the Liquidator was born. They were one and the same, but without a lot of insider knowledge, it would be nearly impossible to link one to the other.

"Uncle Scrooge, now knowing the truth about Bud Flood and the Liquidator, wanted to use the investigator's information to convict the corrupt business dog and lock him up for good. Before he could do so, the investigator ended up dead and all the evidence died with him. Uncle Scrooge knew that somehow Bud Flood had gotten wind of his investigation and had put an end to it before it got out of hand. Feeling guilty for costing a good man his life and not knowing quite what to do about the situation, our uncle decided to let the matter go for a while until he could come up with a solid plan of action.

"Another year past and none of us thought about Bud Flood, until...until after that day..."

Huey looked teary eyed and paused to compose himself. Dewey put a hand on Huey's shoulder in comfort, while Louie decided to explain the sudden onset of sadness.

"He was talking about when we lost Gizmoduck to Taurus Bulba. It was a pretty awful day for all of us, since we were very close to him. Uncle Scrooge took it especially hard."

"We all did kiddo." Launchpad told him sincerely. "Gizmoduck was a great champion of justice and one of the only heroes either Duckberg or St. Canard has. He was a great guy..."

"He was..." Huey muttered in a small voice. "Well, anyway, after Gizmoduck died, Bud Flood decided to make his move to take over the city. He wasn't going to do it by force though. Rather, he was going to rely on his charm to get him voted into office."

"Uncle Scrooge didn't like that idea one little bit." Dewey cut in with a shake of his head. "Not that the three of us really liked it either."

"No and Uncle Scrooge wasn't about to let Bud Flood take over St. Canard without a fight. This time, he didn't care if he had any evidence. He knew what the truth was about Bud Flood and he also knew that the people of St. Canard had to be informed about who he really was. Uncle Scrooge was going to use some of his money to create advertisements against Bud Flood. Before he could complete them, we got a surprise visit from the Liquidator."

Huey took a deep breath to calm himself, then forced himself to continue.

"He appeared right in front of us in my uncle's house, coming out of thin air. We figure it was Morgana who warped him right to that location. Anyway, the Liqudator had heard about Uncle Scrooge's upcoming ads and came to put an end to them and him. Uncle Scrooge managed to get the three of us to safety by locking us in his panic room, but...but he..." Huey swallowed hard, with tears welling up in his eyes. "Without Gizmoduck or Launchpad around, there was no one who could protect Uncle Scrooge. The Liquidator, that monster, he...he murdered Uncle Scrooge and ran off with all his money. There was nothing any of us could do..."

Huey, Dewey and Louie could hold back their tears no longer and all three ducks began to sniffle. Launchpad pulled out a couple of handkerchiefs for the boys and handed them to each of them.

"There, there boys," he told them in a shaky voice. He was clearly trying not to get emotional and cry like they were. "Mr. McD wouldn't want you to cry about what happened to him. I'm sure he's proud of you three, where ever he is now."

The three boys nodded mutely as Quackerjack began processing all the information. "Wait, how would Liquidator have gotten away with that? I mean, didn't you three tell the police about what happened?"

"We tried," Louie spoke in a chocked voice, "but they didn't believe us because we were just kids. They thought we must have been traumatized, or so they told us and that we were just imagining things. More likely, they had already been bribed by Bud Flood."

"Anyway," Huey continued in the strongest voice he could muster, "after that Bud Flood easily won the mayoral race for St. Canard. Morgana helped brainwash loads of people in the press so that all he got were glowing reviews and no one took a closer look at his record. Once he won, he and Morgana slowly started taking control of St. Canard for their own profits. The city has been in turmoil ever since. That horrible, wretched..." Huey gripped his shirt tightly as he trailed off.

"We weren't about to let that mongrel get away with what he'd done," Dewey spoke in a harsh tone, full of conviction, "and since the three of us had nowhere to go anymore, we decided to go to St. Canard to help stop him and the other villains that are wrecking this city! You'll see! One day, Bud Flood will pay for killing Uncle Scrooge!"

"Yes, he will." Drake Mallard affirmed with his eyes full of hope. "He and all the others like him."

"Yeah, that's right!" Launchpad stated in his optimistic manner. "Our gang's gonna make it happen. I know we will."

"I just hope it happens soon..." Louie said, still sounding a little down.

"Maybe when she comes back, we can finally make some real progress on stopping them." Huey offered to the downtrodden Louie.

"Who's she?" Quackerjack questioned curiously.

"She's one of our spies in Bud Flood's office. Apparently, she was called in to help plan for some special meeting or another. Hopefully, she can get some good information for us to use against those crooks." Dewey answered promptly.

"Well, thanks for telling me about Bud Flood." The jester spoke sincerely. "I do appreciate it."

"You're welcome." Huey replied with a forced smile.

"Well, while we wait for her to come back, why don't you, me and Drake talk about getting you out of town. It'll help pass the time, if nothin' else." Launchpad said in his helpful manner.

"Sure." Quackerjack spoke listlessly, not really wanting to talk about leaving the city. Nevertheless, he got up to join Drake and Launchpad in the living room, his mind still racing with the new information he had received about Liquidator and Morgana.

* * *

At that same time, the aforementioned pair were still in the Mayor's office. Morgana was preparing a spell that would help her fulfill Taurus Bulba's wish of destroying the nuisance of a clown. Bud Flood was still sitting in his plush chair, sipping at a new cup of coffee as he watched his favorite secretary work. When he saw her take a short break from her project, he spoke to her in a calm voice.

"So, he's found it, it seems."

"Yes," she replied simply, "he has."

"Do you believe he's found the item you've told me about?"

"Oh, I think he has." Morgana replied as she finished the last bit of her preparation. "I can't imagine what else it could be. Why do you ask?" She questioned, a knowing smile on her bill.

"Nine out of ten studies show there's no point in answering that question, as we are both thinking the same thing." The mayor of St. Canard responded with a devious grin.

"That we take the thing from Bulba and use it for ourselves?" Morgana voiced the idea with a similar grin.

"Precisely." Bud Flood replied, going into his advertising mode. "After all, as business owners, both of us know how much more profitable and rewarding it is to be your own boss, rather than work under somebody else. Besides, with our combined powers, all statistics show that the steaming bucket of bolts known as Taurus Bulba really has nothing on us."

"Not to mention that once we use that item, we'll be unstoppable." Morgana gazed longingly into Bud's eyes as she continued. "It will be just the two of us and the world will be our playground."

"Yes, my dear." The canine replied, beckoning her towards him. "Soon, nobody will be able to touch us. It will be just the two of us, doing anything we want."

The witch smiled endearingly at him and floated over to his side. She leaned down and gave him a kiss. When they parted, he placed a finger to her bill and laughed lightly.

"Now, now, business before pleasure, remember?" Bud's eyes sparked with merriment as he pointed to her forgotten project.

"Oh, that's right." She said indifferently, pushing her hair back over her shoulders. "This won't take long."

Morgana lazily walked back over to her components she had laid out for her spell. She summoned one of her familiars into her hand and dropped him into the bowl in the middle of her contraption. The witch's fingers lit with magic and her eyes glowed red as she muttered the incantation. Soon, her familiar began to glow red and grow at a rapid pace. Before it became too large, she zapped it from the room and sent it to the location where she sensed the clown's presence.

Once the creature was gone, she nodded down at her work and congratulated herself on another job well done. Confident that her familiar would take care of the problem, she twirled around and headed back towards Bud Flood, intent on spending the rest of the dwindling afternoon with him.

* * *

Quackerjack, Launchpad and Drake were still discussing the best possible way to get the jester out of St. Canard when the entire house began to shake. Thinking it was an earthquake, Drake was about to tell everyone to get under something when a giant, hairy leg came crashing through the roof. The trio yelped at the sight and retreated back as another leg made its way through the roof. The shaking increased tremendously as the roof started caving in and collapsing from the weight of the assailant. Everyone inside the house collapsed to the floor and covered their heads as a giant dust cloud covered them.

When the dust had finally settled, Quackerjack looked up to see what had caused all the commotion and he visibly paled when the figure came into sight. Towering above him and the others was a giant spider with glowing red eyes and sharp fangs. The colorfully clad duck took a step back as the massive creature moved towards them all, wondering how they could defeat such a beast.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, I finally finished another chapter. That one took a while to write and I'm not entirely sure I'm happy with it, but at least it's done. The next chapter should have a bit more action in it and the one after that should finish this fic off. Until next time!


	6. The Gem Returns

**The Gem Returns**

* * *

Disclaimer: Thornroot is Jamcub's and Darkwing Snark's original character. Puppetcore is the creator of the Bud Flood politician concept used in this story. I asked permission to use these characters. The rest belong to Disney.

* * *

Quackerjack stood frozen for a minute, staring at the giant spider that had crashed through the roof. The red eyes were glaring straight at him and drool was dripping from its long fangs. Next to him, Launchpad finally got back to his feet and also stood in captivated horror at the ugly creature looming over them.

"You, uh, wouldn't happen to, uh, want to join our team, would you?" Launchpad stuttered nervously at the giant spider before them. The creatures answer was a long, terrifying snarl. "Didn't think so." The pilot replied with a gulp.

The spider picked up one of its long legs and aimed it for the jester.

"Look out!" Quackerjack cried out to Launchpad as he flipped backwards to avoid being hit. The pilot jumped to the side to dodge the attack and continued to back away to get out of the things reach.

The toymaker continued to flip out of the way as the spider aimed its many legs at the duck, trying to skewer him with its long, spindly legs. The duck was a bit too fast for it though and managed to time his jumps so that the spider crossed its two front legs and nearly lost its balance.

Quackerjack stopped to give a bow to the rest of the resistance movement who were giving some cheers for his acrobatic prowess. He then stopped to blow a raspberry at the now tangled spider. The creature snarled at him and lifted a leg as if to strike him. The jester rolled his eyes and cartwheeled out of the way, right into a shot of sticky web. The spider had tricked him into getting caught in its web and was hastily spitting as much of it on the surprised duck as possible.

"Ugh, now I know how my tangled up puppets feel..." Quackerjack said to himself, trying to keep his attitude light. He struggled against the web, trying to free himself, but he found the slick, white ropes to be too thick. Panic began to set in as he was almost completely covered in the sticky web. "A little help would be nice!" He shouted to no one in particular.

"Don't worry, I'm comin' ta save ya!" Launchpad shouted as he got close to the jester and tried to pull the web off. Unfortunately, all he managed to do was get his hands caught in the web that was spun around the other duck. The spider rubbed its legs together deviously and took the opportunity to roll Launchpad up in its webs as well. Once the burly duck was effectively tied up, the spider went back to its original target. The spider picked up a loose thread that had not been entirely wrapped around the inert duck and used to to begin reeling the jester in.

Quackerjack struggled furiously, trying to get away from the massive creature in front of him, but it was no use. His beady black eyes gazed up in terror as a bit of drool dripped onto his hat as he was pulled underneath the creature. He saw the giant stinger attached to the spiders behind and realized that the thing was going to stab him with it. "HELP!" He shouted again, this time far more desperately.

"We gotta do something!" Huey shouted to the others, watching the scene before him in horror.

"But what can we do?" Louie shouted back, looking around for something, _anything_, they could use to stop the creature.

"I've got an idea!" Drake Mallard said to the three boys. "You three have roller skates, right?" The boys nodded in unison. "Go grab them! Hurry! Meanwhile, I'll distract this aggravating arachnid."

The short mallard ran in front of the spider and waved his arms back and forth to get the things attention. It was about to plunge its stinger into Quackerjack when Drake's voice interrupted its plans. "Look over here, you reject from 'Aduckyphobia!' Betcha can't catch me, you eight-legged freak!"

The spider's eyes narrowed at the taunt and it shot a string of sticky web at the sweater wearing mallard. He nimbly dodged to the side of the web, purposefully getting close to one of the legs. The creature lifted the long, black limb and attempted to send it down on the irritating duck beneath him. Just then, Huey, Dewey and Louie returned with a pair of skates each and Drake beckoned for one of them to be tossed over to him. Dewey threw one to him and just as the spider was about to bring its leg down, Drake placed the skate on the ground right where the spider was going to land. The long limb landed inside the skate and the momentum put the creature off balance. Try as it might, the spider couldn't keep the leg straight, much to its dismay.

"It's working!" Louie shouted as he threw another skate to Drake.

"Good work Mr. Mallard!" He said to the short duck as he watched him dodge another attack from a different leg. He used the same technique on the new leg with similar results. The others cheered the action as the spider now had two slippery legs to deal with. Honker Muddlefoot, however, looked at the situation with a less enthralled look on his little face.

"This may bring us some temporary respite, but it's not going to solve the problem at hand." He muttered in his wheezy voice, trying to come up with another solution. He snapped his fingers and turned to his mother in question. "Mom, do you have any of that industrial strength hair spray with you?"

"My industrial strength hair spray?" Binkie asked curiously, searching through her bag. "Well, yes, I think so. Ah, here it is." She said cheerfully as she handed the bottle to her son. "Whatever do you need it for—" She tried to ask, but Honker had taken off as soon as the bottle was in his hands. He went up to one of the legs that was caught in the skate. He opened the bottle in one swift movement as started spraying the long black limb with the hair spray. The spray had the desired effect as the joints became stuck and rendered the leg useless.

"Nice thinking, Honk man!" Drake called over to the nerdy young duck, who blushed at the compliment. He had just finished putting another skate on the spider and was trying to trick it into getting another leg to come after him. "Binkie, do you have any more of that spray stuff?" He called out to her as Honker continued to spray the spider's legs.

"Oh, now let me see..." The air-headed housewife replied with no apparent haste in her movements. "Ah, here's another one." This bottle was swiped by Tank, who ran towards the action like there was no tomorrow.

Meanwhile, Huey and Dewey, now out of skates to hand off, were rushing towards the tied up Quackerjack to save him from the spider. When they got near him, Huey and Dewey both pulled Swiss Army knifes from their pockets and started cutting at the white bonds. The spider, noticing what the two little ducks were doing, aimed its stinger at the inert duck, attempting to strike before it was too late.

"Hurry! Hurry!" Quackerjack wailed as he saw the stinger move into position over them.

"We're tryin!" Huey replied harshly as he was finally able to completely cut through the web and start pulling it off. The clown struggled within the ropes and finally managed to wriggle free just as the stinger began to plunge towards him. The three ducks yelped and scrambled to get out of the way, barely dodging the oncoming attack. Once the trio was safely out from underneath the spider, Quackerjack turned around with a deep frown on his bill.

"It's play time." He whispered darkly as he pulled a large, blue ball from his pocket.

The large-billed duck blew another raspberry at the large creature before him, angering it once more. He then ran right underneath it, back towards the stinger which has been a source of his peril just moments before. The long spike aimed itself towards him again and he opened the ball to reveal a brown substance within it. Quackerjack unleashed his ultra sticky silly putty and managed to catch the spider as it plunged its spike down into the carpet. The thing struggled and snarled as it found itself unable to remove its spike from the carpet.

The giant spider, with its legs stiff and its stinger in the carpet, was now just wriggling its large body helplessly back and forth. Drake stepped back and cleaned his hands off with an air of finality.

"Yep, yep, yep, even giant, hairy arachnids from the underworld are no match for Drake Mallard and his resistance movement." He said with pride in his voice.

"Um, I wouldn't celebrate just yet, Mr. Mallard, sir." Honker wheezed at him in his nasally voice. "We may have trapped the monster, but we still have no way to get rid of it."

"Ah, but that is where I come in, Dahlink."

All the heads in the room turned to the puff of red smoke that had appeared by the doorway, showing the arrival of the witch Magica DeSpell. She walked purposefully over to the spider and pulled out a crescent shaped device from her pocket.

"This is amateur work." She said, looking at the massive spider with some disdain. "Such cheap magic will be easy to dispel."

As Magica was preparing to throw her crescent shaped device at the spider, Quackerjack leaned over to Launchpad, who had just been freed by the triplets and whispered, "Isn't that Magica DeSpell? Why is she here?"

"She's the last member of our resistance movement." Launchpad replied as he brushed off some of the remaining spider webs from his clothes.

"I thought she was a bad guy." Quackerjack whispered back as he eyed in her in confusion. "Like a really bad, bad guy."

"She was, well, still is." The pilot told him, rubbing the back of his head. "The thing is, she's always been after Scrooge's number one dime, right? Well, Bud Flood took it after he murdered Scrooge and has kept it locked away with the rest of his earnings. Magica wants to take it from him, but she isn't powerful enough to take on both him and his witch girlfriend. So, she joined us in the hopes that we could work together to defeat the bad guys and then she could get the number one dime."

"Oh...okay..." Quackerjack muttered, thinking that this witch must be as loony as he was to go to so much trouble over one dime.

At that moment, Magica threw her device at the spider and it connected without a hitch. The crescent shaped device glowed blue for a moment and as the glow intensified, the spider began to shrink. When it was back to its normal size, the device stopped glowing and returned to its master. Magica gripped the thing in her hand, only to be shocked by the amount of power held in her magical device. Her body went rigid for a moment before a counter spell hit her with a surge of power that sent her flying backwards. She landed in a heap, groaning and clutching at her stomach.

"Magica! Are you okay?" Louie asked as the triplets ran over to her to check on her condition. Seeing that the witch seemed to be fine other than being a little shaken, the burly pilot looked back at the spot that the spider had been. He saw a small brown spider with a little black hair on its head struggling to get out of one of the skates. When it finally managed to escape the leather prison, the little arachnid scampered away and exited the Mallard house.

"Yeesh, that did nothing for my fear of spiders." Launchpad shuddered as he watched the small spider leave. "What **was** that thing?"

"Probably something sent by Morgana..." Quackerjack muttered darkly. The thing had gone right for him after all and Bud's girlfriend had probably offered to help him finish off the clown after he'd escaped the night before.

Launchpad nodded. "I suppose that makes some sense. The only question is, why would she go ta all the trouble? And for that matter, how did she know where we were?"

"I think I may be able to answer that dahlink." Magica said to him as she finally got back on her feet. "When I drained that spider of its power, I saw parts of Morgana's thoughts imbued into the magic. St. Canard is in big trouble, I think."

"What? What do you mean St. Canard's in trouble?" Drake demanded, suddenly looking like he was ready for a fight.

"Calm yourself, dahlink." Magica told him impatiently. "I will tell you as soon as I find a place to sit down. That chair by that mouse statue looks like it will do nicely." The sorceress turned to the triplets and said, "Gather everyone into that room for me. I do not like to repeat myself."

"Yes, Ma'am." Dewey spoke quickly and the three little ducklings ran to do as they were told.

Since there were so few people in the resistance movement, it wasn't very hard to gather everyone in front of Magica. All the members of the group looked at Magica intently as she began to speak in a heavy voice.

"As I have already stated, I saw something in the magic that I absorbed off of that spider." She held up the crescent shaped device for everyone to see. "This is a source absorber. It takes magic from another host and gives it to me. Unfortunately, that two-bit witch Morgana enacted a counter spell, so that I could not take the magic for myself, but there was one useful thing that could be confirmed by that little spell. You see, spells can carry the emotions or memories of the person who makes them. This can generally be avoided if the witch of wizard is careful enough, but Morgana was being cocky and figured that she did not need to take such precautions." Magica sneered in disgust as such a trivial mistake. "Of course, her loss is our gain in this case."

"So...?" Quackerjack put in with a wave of his hand, making it clear that he wanted the conversation to move along.

"I'm afraid it is as I have predicted. My crystal ball has hinted at this for a while, but today's secret meeting and that spell have confirmed my suspicions. Bud Flood is not the leader of the villains in this city."

An audible gasp came from several of the room's occupants as they all looked back and forth at one another.

"But, if he's not the leader, then who is?" Huey asked in a small voice. "There isn't anyone worse than him in this city, is there?"

"There is." Magica stated with a hint of finality in her voice. "Some of you here might remember his name. His name is Taurus Bulba and he's the leader of the group known as the Felonious Five."

"Taurus Bulba?" Drake Mallard jumped to his feet in alarm, his eyes wide. "He was defeated by Gizmoduck, wasn't he? Granted, I never put much faith in that tin can's abilities, but I really thought he was gone for good this time."

"Him?" Magica laughed at the idea. "Do not forget, Mr. Mallard, that I have not always been on the side of good. Taurus Bulba is not a man who would die so easily. He is far too ambitious for that." The smile fled from her beak as she remembered what she had seen." Unfortunately, his ambitions this time may spell doom for us all."

An apprehensive silent was the only response the witch received to the statement. She smiled as she knew she had everyone's attention now and would probably have to deal with few interruptions.

"As everyone here knows, Taurus Bulba was rebuilt by the Fiendish Organization for World Larceny. The fools who ran FOWL thought that Bulba would be grateful to them for being their personal experiment. Bulba, however, was furious with them for the alterations they made to him and proceeded to tear down FOWL. Ever since that day when he woke up as a machine, he has longed to return to his old body."

The occupants of the room gazed at each other, the same question clearly written on their faces. Magica laughed a little and decided to answer the unspoken question.

"You think that it's impossible, but you're wondering if there is actually a way. Being a witch, and a powerful one I might add, I know a few ways for him to recover his lost body. My spy work in mayor Flood's office has led me to believe that him and his allies were searching for a powerful object with occult powers, an object that could be used to restore his flesh and bone form. Bulba has found a legendary gem stone and he is bringing it to St. Canard. One that can grant wishes to those with evil intentions."

Quackerjack, who had placed his head on his hand during the long explanation, perked up at the mention of this gem stone. Could it be...?

"This stone is called the Rogue's Gem and it has been used by many villains throughout history—much to their regret. Many have used it as a way to fulfill there less than savory ambitions and all of them have found that they wanted to take back their wishes once they had made them. "

"There's some catch or somethin', isn't there?" Herb Muddlefoot spoke up in a helpful voice. "That's how it always goes in the movies and such."

Magica's beak curled into a sneer at what she considered an utterly plebeian remark. "Movies and television often exaggerate or greatly misinterpret magic and those that use it. However, in this case, you have a point, Mr. Muddlefoot. There is a catch to using this gem, one that most villains who have used it overlooked. These villains make their wicked wishes on this stone, hoping that it will fulfill their desires. What these amateurs fail to understand is that the gem itself was creating by some of the darkest of the black arts. The stone grants the wishes of ill-intent because it's sole purpose is to bring as much evil into the world as it can.

"Thus, many villains have used the Rogue's Gem in order to make themselves happy, not understanding that the gem itself takes their wish and warps it so that as much evil can be brought out of it as possible. The person who made the wish doesn't change at all, but most of the time something important to them or their entire reality changes for worst. The Rogue's Gem really only grants the wishes in order to serve its own needs, not the needs of the user."

Quackerjack hung his head a bit, his bells ringing listlessly as he stared at the floor. He was a naturally impulsive person who liked living in the moment and worrying about the consequences later. This reality, however, was not a consequence he wanted to live with and the thought that he might be stuck with it made his stomach tie itself in knots. He clenched one of his fists, thinking that he wished he had known about the true nature of the Rogue's Gem.

_Then again, it probably wouldn't have mattered if I had. _A sardonic smile came onto his bill as the colorful duck thought it over. _After all, Bushy tried to persuade me that something could go wrong back at the warehouse and I just called him a wimp and moved on with my plan. Boy, how I wish I could take it back now..._

"Well, then, what are we worrying about anyway?" Louie asked, scratching his head a bit. "I mean, if this gem just uses the person for its own benefit, then it's not like Bulba will actually have his wish granted, right?"

Magica stared at the young duck with a pensive look before shaking her head a little. "Remember, dahlink that the Rogue's Gem exists to bring the most evil into the world as possible. Bulba's wish to bring back his body would bring immense evil not just to St. Canard, but to our entire world."

"Um, I guess I really don't see how that would work." Launchpad put in with confusion clearly written on his face. "Wouldn't Bulba be weaker if he got his body back and easier defeat than he is as a high tech machine?"

"He would be if it wasn't for a certain secret weapon."

Drake Mallard sat up straight at this revelation. "You mean, the secret weapon that Mechavolt stores with him and has been protecting for so long? Do you know what's inside of that big gray box?"

"I've had my theories Mr. Mallard, but until today they could not be confirmed. Thanks to Morgana's little slip up earlier with her magic, I now exactly what it is. That gray box hold the ultimate in body armor and advanced weaponry, namely the gizmo suit."

"The gizmo suit?" Several members of the resistance shouted in alarm before Launchpad cut over the top of all of them. "That can't be right, can it? I thought that armor had been damaged beyond repair and that it could never be fixed."

"It zeems we were all wrong on that assumption." Magica replied with a sigh. "Between Mecahvolt's talent for building machines and Bulba's new understanding of machines due to his robotic body, I believe that they found a way to fix it.

"Unfortunately, if Morgana's memories are accurate, then Bulba has not just repaired the gizmo suit. He had altered, twisted and enhanced its form, making it far more dangerous than it ever was before. It now has all the most advanced weaponry within its circuits, which can be activated at the push of a button. He's also reprogrammed it so that it will respond to him and only him as it's master. In addition to that, he will be the only one who will know how to shut the suit on or off. There is no way to override it, as Bulba has put in place every possible virus protection known to this world. If he gets his wish and puts the suit on, then I fear for the safety of not just St. Canard, but of the world as well. No one vill be safe from him, that much I know."

Magica closed her large eyes as she continued speaking in a heavy voice. "That is why I believe the Rogue's Gem will grant him his wish without any of its usual tricks. I cannot see a scenario where more evil could be brought into the world then that one. "

Silence met her words again as the entire room shared bleak looks among one another. Finally, Binkie, who had been fussing with her skirt in an uncomfortable manner on the floor during the silence said, "Oh my, this certainly seems like a very bad situation, doesn't it?"

Quackerjack snorted to himself at the completely air-headed comment, noting that Drake Mallard was now rolling his eyes and shaking his head. A nasally voice from beside Binkie brought them all back to the dire situation at hand.

"Isn't there anything we can do to stop Bulba?" Honker spoke softly with little hope in his voice or his posture. "There has to be something, right?"

"I wish I had an answer for you," Magica responded with a grim expression. "I do not believe that my crystal ball or magic will give us a viable solution this time. Though there may be one more angle we have not explored. The spider that was sent by Morgana came after a very specific target and the Felonious Five wouldn't go to this kind of trouble if they weren't worried about something. I think the question now is, why are they after you?" Magica questioned, turning her black eyes to the jester. "Why are they going to all the trouble to off you?"

All eyes in the room turned to him and he looked at all of them for a moment before looking back at the floor. He fiddled nervously with his hands, swallowing hard. He wanted to change the rules of the world back to the way they had been. There was only one way left and he knew it.

"They're after me because I know how their weaknesses," Quackerjack admitted slowly, hearing gasps and whispers around the room, "well, most of them anyway."

"You know their weaknesses?" Drake demanded, eying the clown with suspicion. "How?"

"Let's just say I've been watching them for a long time." He replied with a sly voice. "I've been watching them and waiting for the right opportunity to strike." Quackerjack jumped to his feet, ready to try to persuade the group to go along with his idea. "Ladies and gentlemen, today is that day! With my knowledge combined with our, um, dedicated forces, we are sure to win the day. We'll strike these villains with all our might and take back St. Canard. What do you say? Are you with me?"

Hoping to hear some cheers or enthusiastic shouts, all he got was more silence. A frown made its way onto his large bill as he stared peevishly at the silent crowd before him.

"What's the matter with all of you?" Quackerjack demanded, with his hands on his hips. "Don't you want to save St. Canard? I'm telling you that I know their weaknesses! We'll have the advantage on 'em! Doesn't that mean _anything _ to you?"

"I don't know sir," Honker said in a wheezy voice. "It sounds kind of dangerous."

"I think it sounds awesome!" Tank proclaimed, pumping a fist in the air in excitement.

Chatter and murmurs went between the other occupants of the room as they clearly tried to come to some kind of consensus. Frustrated by the lack of positive responses, Quackerjack pulled down on the ends of his hat and was about to go after them for being a bunch of wimps, when a voice from behind him caused him to shut his large beak.

"This is probably a first for me, but I'm going to have to side with Tank on this one." Drake Mallard said wryly. He straightened up when all eyes turned to him and he cleared his throat as he spoke to them all in a completely serious voice. "Look, all we've been doing as a group so far is sitting around and only making a few minor dents to these villains' evil schemes. We came together to do more than just sit around and talk about how we could make a difference. We come here every month so that we can actually make one! This is our chance to go for the big time!"

The other people in the room stared back and forth at each other, not seeming entirely convinced by the spontaneous speech. The jester wondered briefly if he should back the shorter duck up, but he shut his beak again when he looked into the others blue eyes. There was a deep passion in Drake's eyes and it was clear that this particular duck was truly heartfelt about what he was saying. He then had the feeling that if anyone could nudge the rest of his hesitant teammates to action, it was this duck. Quackerjack suddenly felt that he knew this duck somehow, but he couldn't quite place him.

"Just take a moment and think about this situation. If Magica's right and Bulba manages to make his wish and obtain the gizmo suit, then there isn't going to be any hope for St. Canard. This is a bull who threw a little girl off his airship to fall to her death when he had no more use for her. There is not a single drop of decent blood left in that monster's body and he'll rip St. Canard to shreds if he gets the chance. We can't give him that chance! We just can't!" Drake looked at each of them with fervor in his eyes. "It won't be just him either. Bud Flood, Morgana, Thornroot and Mechavolt will be given free reign as well to do whatever they want to the citizens of this city. This might be our last, our only chance to stop them."

Everyone in the room was silent, taking in what Drake was saying. After a moment of pregnant silence, Drake spoke to them all in a quiet voice.

"I can ask all of you to go, but the decision is yours to make. As for me, I'm going to take this one chance, even if I stand alone or if it takes my life."

"Oh, no ya don't!" Launchpad said loudly, getting up to stand beside Drake. "You're not going to fight all of them alone. I'm going with ya, doncha worry."

"Thanks, Launchpad." The short mallard said as the large pilot put an arm around him.

"No problemo, Drake." He replied with a warm smile. "After all, what're friends for?"

"Well, heck, if you two are goin', then you can bet your tail feathers that I'll be comin' too." Herb Muddlefoot told them both fervently. He slowly got to his feet and came over to give them both a hard slap on the back. "Wouldn't want anything to happen to you fellers. You're two of the nicest people I've ever met, doncha know."

"Gee, thanks Herb." The pilot said with a sincere smile, though Drake looked at the oblivious fat duck with a peeved expression.

"Oh, Herb dear. You're so brave." Binkie cooed as she came over to take her husband's arm. "If my darling Herb thinks that helping you out is the right thing to do, then I'll pitch in too. I can make everyone some special, scrumptious meals to help keep your energy up before the big fight. Won't that be nice?"

"It sure will, honeybunch." Herb said with true affection, while Drake and Quackerjack both made faces at the gooey, love scene.

"Well, I'm not staying behind to do the cooking." Tank announced with pride. He balled his fist and did a bunch of mock punches. "I want to fight the bad guys! Let me at 'em! They won't know what hit 'em."

"Um," Honker wheezed out, backing away from his aggressive brother, "I think I'll just stick to research. Sounds safer."

"Well, the three of us aren't going to sit this one out!" Huey declared fervently. The other two ducks nodded their assent."We've been waiting for a long time to get our revenge on Bud Flood and put him away for good. I can tell ya one thing, we're not going to let that creep get more power of St. Canard."

"Then, you're all signing up to play?" Quackerjack asked them with a small, hopeful smile.

"You bet we are!" Drake replied and the others whooped or voiced their agreement. Quackerjack flipped in the air in glee and was about to go into more details for his plan when a dry voice cut him off.

"This enthusiasm is all fine and good," Magica drawled out in a tone that said she was clearly not impressed, "but I think you are all forgetting something. We are but a small group of rebels and they are a strong group of super villains with a large number of undead plant mutants on their side. I am certain they will be out in force to protect their master. How are we supposed to get past them? I can increase our numbers with a bit of magic, but not enough to thwart all of those undead creeps."

"There's an easy solution to that problem, sister." Herb Muddlefoot spoke up before anyone else could. "I've got a lot a friends on my Quackerware route and let me tell ya, they're no more pleased with what's goin' on in this city than we are. I'm sure if I talk to 'em, I could persuade a bunch of them to help us."

"Oh, Herb, that's a wonderful idea!" Binky told her husband as she put a hand under her chin. "You know, come to think of it, there are a lot of people in my sewing, cooking and reading clubs that are unhappy with how things are now. I bet a few of them would be willing to lend us a hand."

"Right, that sounds great." Launchpad said optimistically as things began to fall into place. "Looks like we've got a pretty good plan brewing here." The burly duck glanced back at the clown, who was waiting impatiently for everything to get sorted out. "Okay, Quackerjack, we're as ready as we'll ever be. Tell us you're plan."

Quackerjack leaped forward, somersaulted in the air and landed in the center of the room. All eyes were on him now and he had to admit that he loved the attention. He took a deep breath and spoke in a dramatic tone. "Thank you ladies and gentlemen for your cooperation. Their will be roles for everyone to fill in this extraordinary play that will determine the fate of the whole city. Here is what we must do..."

After an hour or so of planning, bickering and some negotiation, everything had been locked into place. The members of the resistance movement were rushing in and out, trying to gather everything that was needed for their plan. It was very hectic at the Mallard home, not that the jester minded. He loved the constant movement and the frenetic energy fed into his natural state of being. Sooner than he expected, the jester found that everything necessary for their attack to work had been acquired and when everyone returned, he insisted that they should all rest a bit before the big night. No one argued with this as they were all a bit tired from the day's exertions.

As the occupants of the house found different places to rest, Quackerjack saw Drake Mallard going up the stair case to his bedroom. The jester activated his springs and leaped up in the air so that he could land on the step right in front of the climbing duck. Surprised by the action, Drake yelped and waved his arms about as he lost his balance. He tumbled and rolled back down the stairs in a way that looked incredibly painful.

"Ouch." The sweater wearing duck muttered as he lay face down on the carpet.

"Whoops," Quackerjack said, trying to suppress his giggles at the comical scene the mallard represented. He bounced back down the stairs and landed beside Drake as he started to get up. He yanked the duck up off the ground and set him on his feet, brushing off his clothes.

"Sorry about that good sir," He remarked, imitating a snooty butler as he continued to brush Drake off. "Didn't mean to frighten you, good chap."

"Cut the corny imitations, please." The shorter duck told him, not feeling entirely in good humor after his fall.

"Well, I never!" Quackerjack responded with mock affront, still in butler mode.

"You're kind of like a big kid, aren't you?" Drake questioned as he rubbed his aching back.

"And you seem like you're the nerdy type that plays with his chemistry sets all day." The jester replied, chuckling at the irked expression the mallard was bestowing upon him. "Oh lighten up, Drakey. I never said it was a bad thing."

"You also didn't say it was a good thing." The sweater wearing duck pointed out with a frown on his beak.

"Good point," the toymaker told him with another brief round of chortles, "though surprisingly I didn't come here to rag on you about your nerdiness. Actually, I just wanted to say thanks for giving that speech when you did and convincing the others to help. It was unexpectedly brave of you, that's for sure."

All of the irritation left Drake's form as he stared at the jester before another emotion took over his face, his posture and his whole being. Quackerjack realized after a brief moment that the emotion that had overtaken the duck in front of him was sadness. The shorter mallard wrung his hands a little before he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

"I'm not really sure if I deserve thanks for what I did. It's not really bravery that caused me to do it. It was..." Drake paused for a minute, searching for the right words. He finally heaved a long, heavy sigh and continued. "To be honest with you, I don't really have much going for me. Like you said, my life really boils down to chemistry sets and a few case files. The only real friend I have is Launchpad and other than him, well, there really isn't anyone else who's important in my life." He shrugged his shoulders. "Risking my life doesn't mean much since I don't really have a life worth risking."

Quackerjack was silent as he studied the other duck. It wasn't what he expected him to say and the jester wanted nothing more than to whisk the serious moment away for something more whimsical. He hated serious matters and he never knew what to say when they happened. Drake stared off into the distance, oblivious to the discomfort of the clown.

"I don't know. I just can't help but feel like my life was supposed to be more than this. Like there was something I was supposed to do or someone I was supposed to meet. I feel like someone or something was supposed to fill this emptiness inside me, but whoever they were, they never came to me."

The jester stared at him as he trailed off, a feeling of guilt washing over him. He wondered briefly if his wish was the reason why this duck's life was so empty. The colorfully clad duck once again thought that the mallard before him looked familiar, but he couldn't place him. Pushing away both feelings, he placed a hand on Drake's shoulder to get his attention.

"All I can say is that all this speculating is boring and it won't get you anywhere." The jester told him lightly. "After tonight's done and we've won our game, all the rules will change. Once they do, maybe you can find whatever it is that's missing from your life. So don't worry too much about it." Quackerjack pulled out Mr. Banana Brain to add his two cents on to the conversation. "Worrywarts are total killjoys, Troy."

Drake looked as if he didn't know whether to glare at the words or smile at them, but he finally chose to smile. "Don't forget that we have to win first. I will keep in mind what you said though. I'll see you again when it's time to fight."

"Right, see ya." Quackerjack muttered quietly before an idea struck him. "Hey, do you know where a sewing kit is?"

"Sewing kit?" Drake asked as he looked at the clown with a curious expression on his face. "There's on in the closet there."

"Thanks!" The colorfully clad duck said as he dashed off to get it so that he wouldn't have to answer any awkward questions. He nabbed the sewing kit from the closet, then went upstairs to find some privacy. He ducked into an empty room with a big window facing the backyard and shut the door behind him. The clown sat down on the floor and pulled out the three dolls he'd made back at the plane hangar. Bushroot and Megavolt had been finished that night, but the Liquidator doll still needed a few more stitches.

As he started working on the doll, he couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt for what he was going to do. Giving away his teammates weaknesses to a bunch of goodie-goodies was not something he thought would have ever have to do and the villain inside of him was still a bit upset at having to do just that. He assuaged his conscious by reminding himself that these villains he was going to fight weren't really his friends and that they were people that his wish had created.

He finished the Liquidator doll and added it to his collection of dolls. He stared at the water dog's doll for a moment, thoughts running through his head as he placed the three dolls together.

_The Liquidator I knew was a bad guy, sure, but he was never this bad. Granted, the Liquidator had never really been a good guy before his transformation, but he wasn't a cold blooded killer. He would have never taken it this far. It just isn't right..._

Quackerjack grasped the three dolls in his arms and held them as he leaned back and closed his eyes. _Well, I'll just have to change the rules again and make things right. I'll break that stupid rock, get my friends back and go back to living a happy life of crime._

The jester smiled at the thought, made himself comfortable and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep.

* * *

All too soon, the jester found himself being shaken awake by Launchpad, who had come upstairs to find him. The pilot thought it was odd that a grown man had fallen asleep holding a trio of dolls in his arms, but he was too polite to say anything about it.

"Sorry to wake ya up again, but everyone's ready downstairs." Launchpad's eyes were filled with determination and a little hope as he helped the colorful duck to his feet. "It's time to go save St. Canard!"

The jester put the dolls into his large pockets and put the best, enthusiastic smile on his beak that he could. "All right! Let's go, Launchpad!"

Launchpad smiled and nodded at the other before turning around and leading the way back downstairs.

_ I'm doing the right thing. _Quackerjack told himself as he left the house with the others. _I know I am. I just hope this works._

* * *

Author's Note: Okay, so I finally updated. I would just like to take a moment to thank all the people who left me such nice reviews on my last chapter. It really helped me to continue working on this fic. If you're wondering, yes the source absorber came from the Boom! comics storyline and I take no credit for its creation.

This update definitely came out later than I wanted it to, but I have been pretty busy lately.:( I'm not sure if I'll reach my goal of completing this story before it becomes a year old, but the next chapter should be the last one for this story. I hope you have enjoyed reading the story and are looking forward to seeing how it ends. Again, thanks for reading!


	7. Fight For the Future

**Fight For the Future**

* * *

Disclaimer: Thornroot is Jamcub's and Darkwing Snark's original character. Puppetcore is the creator of the Bud Flood politician concept used in this story. I asked permission to use these characters. Karl Fizzy is my OC. The rest belong to Disney.

* * *

Quackerjack and the members of the resistance moved as quietly as they could through the streets of St. Canard. The Muddlefoots had left to gather more allies for their cause and were going to meet them at the sight. As they traveled to their destination, the jester decided to pester Magica one last time about where they were going.

"So, you're sure this is where they're going to be?" Quackerjack asked again, desperately wanting everything to be perfect.

Magica rolled her eyes at the question she felt like she had heard a million times already. "For the last time dahlink, yes, I am sure. This is where Morgana's memory said they were bringing the Rogue's Gem. They are bringing several boxes here as a ruse to hide what they are truly up to."

"Okay..." The clown said with a sigh, hoping that the witch was right.

A few more minutes brought them to their destination and as soon as they stopped in a nearby alleyway to scope out the situation, all doubts were erased. They had arrived outside of St. Canard's Natural History museum, the same one that Quackerjack had woken up in after he had made his wish. Outside of its entrance and scattered in the empty streets were dozens of Thornroot's undead plant minions. It was an intimidating number of enemies and Quackerjack hoped that his plan was going to work. He looked around for the Muddlefoots and tapped his fingers impatiently against his arm.

"Where are those guys? We need to get moving if we want to stop Bulba and the others."

"Don't worry, Herb and them'll be here before you know it." Launchpad assured him with a smile.

"Yeah, Herb and Binkie can be obnoxious and lacking in the brain department, but they do always come through when they're needed." Drake admitted, though he looked a bit miffed at having to compliment the Muddlefoots."

Just as Quackerjack was about to add his two cents, Herb, Binkie, Tank and Honker arrived on the scene with a large number of helpers. The jesters eyes widened at the number of people the Muddlefoots had just added to their mission and he jumped for joy at the sight. He quickly calmed down again as he prepared to launch the first phase of his plan.

"Okay, is everyone equipped with their favorite toys and ready to go?" He asked, patting his own full puffy pockets for emphasis.

"Are we ever!" Herb said with a whoop. All the people behind him nodded, showing large cans of weed killer, matches, torches, baseball bats and other items that could be used to bludgeon the undead beasts before them.

"Great! Then, Magica, if you could add a few more players to this game, we would all be most appreciative." The jester told her with a low bow.

"It will be my pleasure." She told him as she closed her eyes and started casting her spell. A moment later, the shadows of all the people who had joined their cause twitched and came to life. They grew up from the ground and stood beside their respective human persona. Some of the people in the group looked a bit uneasy at this development, while others looked pretty impressed with what they were seeing.

"Quackerroonie!" Dewey cheered at the sight of the shadows.

"These shadows shall definitely help us even the odds against these undead minions." The Italian sorceress told them while admiring her handiwork.

"Perfect!" Quackerjack said as he moved towards the front of the alley. He motioned for Drake and Launchpad to join him. Drake and Launchpad moved to either side of Quackerjack, while the triplets moved in behind him. Magica rounded out the end. When everyone was in position, the toymaker beckoned Herb and his gang to get in front of them. Herb and his party did so with both eagerness and apprehension.

"You ready Herb? This is it!" Drake said to his husky neighbor with a small touch of concern in his voice.

"Doncha worry, Drakemeister! Me, the missus and my friends can handle ourselves!"

"Okay team, here we go!" Quackerjack told them before filling his lungs with air and shouting: "CHARGE!"

With that, Herb, Binkie, Tank, Honker, their friends and an army of shadows raced out the alleyway with their weapons raised, ready to take down their enemies. The sound of so many stamping feet caught the attention of the slow mutants and they began to walk towards the mob of people. Herb raised his club and hit a dog plant zombie directly in the face, knocking it to the ground. Binkie used her weed killer to spray another group of oncoming plant minions. Though they did not breathe, they were clearly bothered by the spray and tried their best to stay away from it. Tank was beating every plant creature in his sight with a baseball bat. Honker, standing away from his brother as he was afraid of getting hit with the bat, was employing more weed killer. At the same time, the smart kid was trying to coax the undead plant creatures to use their vines, so he could use them to tangle them up. Soon, the rest of the group and their shadows were embroiled in a battle with Thornroot's lackies.

Quackerjack, seeing that the resistance movement was causing little damage, but were managing to keep the undead plant mutants at bay, knew that he and the others had to act fast.

"Okay, guys, we got everything we need?" Launchpad nodded, as he picked up a large brown sack. Great! Let's go!" The colorfully clad duck said forcefully as he charged forward.

The group made it's way into the throng of plant mutants, hoping to go unnoticed. Unfortunately, a few of them inevitably blocked their path to the museum and Quackerjack yelled at the top of his lungs:

"Make a path! Clear the path! Hurry!"

Several additions to the resistance movement turned around and saw the problem. They raced towards the mutants with torches flaring and managed to push them away. Still others, began holding the other mutants back, keeping the path clear for the others to get through. The party in question continued making their way through the throngs of plant mutants.

"Don't worry about us, Mr. Quackerjack!" Herb Muddlefoot called out as he beaned another minion on the head. "We'll keep 'em busy for ya! Just do whatcha gotta do!"

Quackerjack grinned and gave him a thumbs up as he and the others ran towards the museum. They finally managed to break free of the undead minions and run up the broken steps of the museum. Quackerjack took one more look back at the battle of the resistance, their shadows and Thornroot's minions before he headed inside the entrance.

* * *

Moments earlier, Bulba and the rest of the Felonious Five had entered the museum. Mechavolt stood close to Bulba, carrying a large metal case that held the gizmo suit. Thornroot followed after him with his rake over his shoulder, while Bud and Morgana hung back sharing knowing looks. The mechanical bull stopped as he saw a couple of boxes from the Far East that had been dropped off in the middle of the floor. He laughed happily at the sight, knowing his plan was mere minutes away from being complete.

"In one of these boxes is the Rogue's Gem, a special jewel that grants wishes to those of ill-intent. Once I make my wish to become mortal again, I can enact my plan to take over the world!"

Wasting no time, Bulba started tearing open the nearest box to view its contents. A quick look from Bud told Morgana that it was time to enact their own plan. Morgana smirked as she wiggled her fingers a bit and let a bit of her magic zap each box. The spell went unnoticed by the other members of their team and as Bulba managed to get the first box open he gave out a roar of displeasure.

"What is this treachery!" He hissed, steam coming from his nostrils as he eyed the contents of the box. "There are hundreds of Rogue's Gems in here!" He turned his furious gaze on the other members of his team and shouted orders at them. "What are you imbeciles standing around for? One of these jewels must be the real one! Get over here and help me look!"

The others hastily went to the other boxes and started searching through them. Mechavolt looked nervous with their boss's temper flaring, while Thornroot merely looked annoyed at having to do such menial grunt work. Bud and Morgana traded another look as the sorceress communicated telepathically to the other dog.

_That__ spell__ will__ hide __the__ real__ Rogue's __Gem__ in__ hundreds __of__ copies__ that __will__ look__ the__ same__ to __the__ untrained__ eye.__ One__ of __magical__ power,__however,__will __be __able __to __spot __the __real __one __from __the __fakes. __Once __I __see __it, __I __will __snatch __it __and __we __can __use __it__ for __ourselves!_

_Brilliant __as __always,__ Morg. _Bud complimented with a rare sincerity in his tone. _Soon,__ we __and __we__ alone __will __rule __St. __Canard!_

The pairs conversation was interrupted as Thornroot straightened up abruptly and gazed towards the entrance of the museum. He closed his deep red eyes and concentrated on what his constructions were telling him.

"What is it? Speak!" Taurus Bulba commanded, not liking to be kept waiting.

"We have company." Thornroot informed him calmly, unaffected by the others foul mood. "A mob has appeared outside and has started attacking my minions. They seemed to be lead by that clown we were talking about earlier, the one that _she_was supposed to take care of."

"What?" Bulba hissed, turning his burning temper on the witch, who put her hands on her hips and stood her ground. "I thought I told you to finish him off!"

"I thought I had." Morgana replied coolly, not letting the anger get to her.

Before Bulba could say anymore, the group heard the sound of pounding feet coming towards them. They all turned towards the entrance to see a small group of ducks of various sizes running at them, looking intent and purposeful.

"Looks like we have company." Thornroot said as he swung his rake to his shoulder.

When the group finally came into full view of the villainous party, they skidded to a stop. The largest duck of the group told three smaller ducklings to take their supplies and find a safe place until the time was right. The three nodded and ran off, carrying a bucket, some rope and a large sack. When the triplets were gone, the remainder of the team approached the villains, each looking confident and ready for a confrontation.

"Looks like we found you all." Quackerjack stated in a playful tone of voice. "I guess we win the game of hide and seek."

"What foolishness is this?" Taurus Bulba questioned, standing up straight and motioning to his team. Thornroot, Mechavolt, Bud Flood and Morgana came to stand in a line by their leader. "Do you know who it is you are facing, you stupid clown? You find yourselves before the rulers of this city, the Felonious Five! We crush every person who dares to oppose us!"

"This city doesn't belong to you or your pals, you sorry excuse for a can opener!" Drake shot back before Quackerjack had time to respond. "It belongs to the people who live here and we're taking it back!"

"Really?" Bulba questioned with a hint of amusement in his voice. "You and these bunch of inferior pack rats are going to defeat the greatest super villains in St. Canard? Don't make me laugh."

"If you're so sure that you'll win, why don't you come and face us yourself?" Quackerjack taunted, gesturing with his hand for them to bring it on. "Come on, I dare ya!"

"Bah! I have no time for such nonsense." The crime lord waved a hand dismissively at the jester, then turned towards Thornroot, Bud and Morgana. "You three stay here and take care of these imbeciles. You," he shouted at Mechavolt who squeaked at the attention, "come with me!"

Taurus Bulba picked up the six boxes and stacked them in two rows on his hands. He balanced them precariously as he and Mechavolt, making sure to grab the box containing the gizmo suit, took off, going up to the second floor of the museum. The clown cringed inwardly as he watched them go.

_Hmm,__ that __throws__a __bit __of __my __plan __off... _He thought irritably. _I __was __going __to __use __Liquidator's __powers __to __short __him __out. __Looks __like __I'll __have __to __get __a __bit __more __creative.__ The__ rest __of __my __plan__ should__ go__ just __fine __though..._

"Well, Thorny, do you want to do the honors?" Bud said, not out of respect, but out of a desire to get back to the Rogue's Gem. He was hoping that the mad scientist could finish off the pests quickly so that he and Morgana could go back to "helping" with the search for the gem.

"Sure, _Buddy_." Thornroot said in a derisive manner. He brought his rake down from his shoulder and got into a fighting stance. His red eyes had an evil glint to them. "I could use a few more mannequins after all."

With that, Thornroot charged forward and swung his rake at Quackerjack and Drake. Both jumped out of the way to avoid being hit. The plant duck gave a short curse and continued chasing the jester across the room. Quackerjack flipped and somersaulted away from every attack with ease, to the increasing frustration of the mutant duck.

Finally, the plant doctor stopped and tried to extend one of his vine arms to wrap up the agile duck. Quackerjack did another big flip, avoiding the trap. While in mid-air, he pulled a smoke ball out of his pocket and let it hit the floor. A thick cloud of smoke covered Thornroot, blocking his vision, but otherwise having no effect whatsoever. The toymaker used the distraction to set up his toy soldiers and was able to finish the project before the smoke faded away. The plant mutant walked forward with an air of determination, patting his rake with his right hand. His eyes narrowed in suspicion at the display of small toy soldiers in front of him.

"Bushroot," The colorfully clad duck started, but Thornroot cut him off.

"Don't call me that!" He hissed forcefully.

"Is this really what you want?" The jester continued on as if he hadn't been interrupted. Thornroot cocked his head to the side at the question, wondering what the other duck was up to. "Is this really the only way to deal with your loneliness? Cutting up living people just so that you have somebody to play with? Using your new toys to terrorize St. Canard? I wonder what Rhoda would say about all this if she were here." Quackerjack told him in a quiet voice. Inwardly the jester felt a twinge of disgust with himself for using such a cruel line on the other villain. Still, he needed to provoke the mutant plant duck and he knew this was just the way to do it.

For a moment, Thornroot's expression softened into one of shock and sadness. Quackerjack was taken aback to see that the green duck now looked very much like the Bushroot he once knew. The expression faded as quickly as it came, however, and was replaced with burning, hot anger.

"Why don't you ask her yourself?" Thornroot spat lividly, charging towards the large-billed duck with his rake slung over one shoulder.

"Troops, attack!" Quackerjack commanded as the plant duck fell right into his trap. The toy soldiers shot out a thick, black substance that covered the fanged duck's eyes, beak, forearms and torso. Thornroot let out a frustrated cry as the substance blinded him and when he recognized the smell of the goo that was covering him, fear filled his reedy form. The red-haired duck had been hit with oil and he was now trying desperately to uncover his eyes so that he could get the rest of it off of him.

The jester, seeing that his ploy had been successful, literally jumped in front of the plant mutant to block him from view. Then, in the nastiest voice he could muster, he called out to the witch Morgana to get her attention.

"Hey, you, the woman with rat's nest for hair!" Morgana's green eyes quickly flicked over to the colorfully clad duck and a look of irritation settled on her face at being talked to in such a matter. Seeing that he know had her attention, Quackerjack continued his taunts in the most childish way possible. "Yeah, I'm talking to you, Ms. I haven't brushed my hair for seven years, I wear cheap, one dollar lip stick and get my dresses from my great aunt's closet. You're nothing more than a wound-up, no fun, miserly old lady with a few cheap magic tricks. Oh, and you stink! I can smell you from here and let me tell you sister, no amount of your nasty, stale perfume is going to cover up that smell!"

"How dare you?" Morgana seethed, her eyes turning red with anger. Nobody had ever dared talk to her that way before. "I'll fry you for your insolence, you insufferable, insipid normal!"

"Oooooh, I'm _so_scared!" Quackerjack shot back sarcastically, bringing his hands up to his face and shaking them back and forth in a over dramatic fashion. "Please, I've seen fortune tellers working at the circus with more talent than you! What are you going to do, pull a rabbit out of your hair?"

"Fortune tellers!" Morgana shouted at him, her entire form glowing red. "Can a fortune teller do this?" The witch bellowed as she launched two powerful shots of lightning from her fingers. The clown stayed still for as long as he could before leaping off to the side to avoid being hit. The blast went straight towards Thornroot, who had just managed to remove the oil from his eyes. He turned abruptly and his red eyes widened as he saw the spell that was coming towards him. The plant duck knew he couldn't avoid the attack.

"NO!" He screamed loudly as the lightning struck him dead on and ignited the flames. His screams were gut wrenching as the mutant plant duck writhed in pain as red hot flames engulfed him from head to toe. After several long moments of agony, the blackened form fell to the ground, twitched for a moment and then went still. The flames soon died down, leaving a charred, broken husk in their wake.

"Sorry, Bushy..." Quackerjack whispered to himself, as he continued to tell himself that what he was doing was necessary.

"Oh, well..." Morgana had put a hand up to her beak after what had taken place, clearly not knowing what to say.

Bud whistled as he came to stand beside her. "Morgana, sweet heart, I think you need to work on your aim. Four out of five morticians would say that the death we have just witnessed was not a pretty way to go."

The sorceress turned to her boyfriend with her eyes glowing red. "Did I **ask** for your opinion?" She hissed at him, raising a hand menacingly in his direction.

The mayor of St. Canard was quick to back off and pulled the collar on his suit in nervousness. "Well, you know how much I like to give advice and it's not like I said you were useless or anything. Come on, dear, lighten up."

Morgana was about to retort when a voice cut into their argument. "Oh, just look at this happy couple. The definition of a blissful relationship." Drake Mallard had put both hands to his face and blinked his eyes in mockery, his voice dripping with sarcasm. The short duck dropped the act and finally turned his black eyes to Morgana, a note of concern clear in his voice. "Seriously, Morgana, what do you see in this guy?"

The witch before him blinked at the question, wondering why this complete stranger would ask her such a thing. He was looking at her with an earnest expression, one she found quite unnerving. She looked away from the sweater wearing duck as Bud Flood stepped up beside her and forcibly entwined his hand with hers.

"Now, just who do you think you are, you little reject from the science club?" The former business dog said in a low, dangerous voice. "Four out four health advisers recommend that you never bother a super villain's girlfriend unless you're willing to face the consequences." Bud let go of Morgana's hand to tug at his dress shirt with an air of superiority. "After all, I am the most powerful man in St. Canard. The people of this city love me and who can blame them? An ambitious and handsome dog like me is hard not to like."

Drake was about to respond when a little voice rang out from behind him, getting both his and Bud Flood's attention.

"They don't love you!" Dewey shouted at the smug dog before him, his voice full of anger. His brothers stood beside him with the same looks of disgust on their tiny faces. "They don't even like you! They fear you! They fear what you'll do to them if you don't get what you want."

"Yeah, you're nothing more than a pig-headed, selfish, greedy old dog!" Huey said as he shook his fist at the dog.

"No one in their right mind would like you!" Louie added before blowing a raspberry.

The mayor of St. Canard laughed a little at the spectacle. "Five out five child psychologists show that you do not get this kind of honesty once a child becomes a teenager." The laughter ended abruptly and the beady black eyes narrowed as he glared at the three triplets. "Of course, nine out of ten super villain surveys show that not one of you is going to grow up to reach that age. Such a pity, but at least you'll always have that honesty. Maybe it'll come in handy to you wherever it is you're going."

The triplets eyes widened a bit at the nasty expression on the dog's face, but all three clenched their fists and stood their ground. Their legs were shaking a bit, but none of them wanted to run away. Just as the former business dog was starting to come towards them, Launchpad and Drake stepped in front of the three kids, blocking his path.

"Easy there boys. We have to stick to the plan remember." Launchpad turned his head and whispered back at the triplets in a soothing voice. "This nightmare can be over today, but you have to keep calm. Do it for your Uncle Scrooge, okay?"

"Right!" All three of them responded at once, with hopes in their eyes. The three ducklings scampered off as the pilot turned back to the mayor of St. Canard.

"The boys are right about one thing. The people of this city don't like the way your running things and want you to go into early retirement. I'm here to help put you out of office, Bud Flood. St. Canard deserves to be run by somebody the people can trust and love, not someone who they fear.

"Four out of five old philosophers show that it is better to be feared than loved." Bud Flood replied with a sinister smile. "I. for one, think it's time for you to fear me."

The tall dog wrapped his arms around himself and closed his eyes. At first, it seemed like he was beginning to sweat as beads of water appeared on his forehead. Soon, however, it was clear that water was flowing out of every pore, covering the dog from head to toe. His clothes became drenched and discolored, fading into his liquid form. Skin grew limp and malformed, until it disappeared into the blue depths that were the dog's new being.

The Liquidator stood in front of them with a smirk on his wet muzzle. "So, the new and improved Liquidator is dying to know, do you still think you can force him into early retirement? The aqua canine snickered at his own question. "Ninety-five percent of all statistics show that the outcome the peons are vying for is unlikely."

"Yeah, well, don't count out that five percent!" Launchpad said, readying his stance for a fight.

"Besides, don't you know that ninety-nine percent of all statistics are made up on the spot?" Drake inquired, imitating the canine's salesman lingo. The canine's hollow blue eyes narrowed at the jibe.

"You dare to mock the all powerful Liquidator?" He hissed out in a watery gargle. Steam began rising from his liquid form. "Five out of five criminal records files show you won't live long enough to regret it!"

The Liquidator formed a ball of water in his hand and threw it hard at the pair of ducks standing before him. Drake and Launchpad dodged to the side before it could hit them. The steaming hot water ball splatted on the floor of the museum, burning a hole in floor.

"Yeek!" The pilot shouted in alarm as he looked at the scalded floor. "This guy means business!"

"The Liquidator is all business." The canine replied with his signature smile, but spraying out more of his boiling hot water at the two ducks.

"Oh yeah? Well, we're about to put you out of business!" Drake retorted as he jumped into the air to dodge another blast of boiling hot water.

While the fray was going on, Quackerjack made his way over to the three little ducklings, who seemed to be almost finished with the device they were rigging.

"You boys nearly done?" The jester asked hastily, eying the condition of Drake and Launchpad. He pulled out Mr. Banana Brain to put in his two cents. "If you take much longer, those two will be outta luck, Chuck."

"We're almost finished," Louie replied with a grunt as they positioned their trap up on the rafters. "There, it's done!"

"All right, Huey," Dewey said to him in a firm voice, "it's time for the signal!"

Huey nodded and pulled a whistle from his pocket. He blew into it once, making a long, harsh sound come from its small depths.

"That's the signal." Launchpad whispered with excitement before waving his arms at the dog, who had perked his ears up at the unexpected noise. "Alright, you overgrown puddle, it's time to put you in your place. The people of St. Canard deserve a better leader than you and I'm gonna make sure they get it!"

The Liquidator scoffed at the comment. "You and what army?"

"This army!" Huey, Dewey and Louie shouted at once before blowing raspberries, making faces and yelling insults at the super villain.

"You done talkin'?" Launchpad asked as the aqua canine growled at the impudent behavior. The burly duck started backing towards the triplets. "Why don't you show me you're more than just talk? Come on, I dare ya!" Launchpad shouted, beckoning the dog closer.

"The Liquidator never backs down from a challenge!" The watery super villain spat back as he lunged towards the pilot. "Buyer beware! You may find yourself facing more than you bargained for!"

Launchpad quickly ran back, jumping into the air every once in a while to avoid a water ball. After what seemed like an eternity to the nervous duck, but was really only a minute, the large duck had run right under the boys' trap with the watery villain trailing behind him.

"Now!" Dewey shouted and the triplet pulled the ropes down on both sides of the bag they had positioned on the rafters. The bag tilted forward and spilled its contents onto the unsuspecting mayor of St. Canard. He halted his pursuit as he was covered from head to toe in cement.

"Take that you mongrel!" Huey spoke angrily at the wet dog. "This is for our Uncle Scrooge!"

"Hmph. What? You think a little concrete can stop the all powerful Liquidator?" The watery villain scoffed as he lurched towards the three little ducklings. "Please, all super villain surveys show that the Liquidator is immortal and can...not...be...stop..ped..." The Liquidator's mouth opened slower and slower as the concrete began to take effect. His eyes widened in fear as his body became increasingly sluggish and unresponsive. "Of course, surveys...can be...a bit...unreliable..."

The Liquidator froze into a concrete statue, his hands curled into fists and his face showing consternation at the predicament he found himself in. The triplets cheered and hugged one another at the sight of the frozen scheming dog. They collectively hoped that wherever their uncle was at the moment, he was happy at finally being avenged.

"That's two down." Quackerjack whispered to himself, relieved that the plan had succeeded without a hitch. He saw Drake and Launchpad slap hands at their accomplishment and Quackerjack gave them both a thumbs up when they looked in his direction.

"No...No!"

A shocked voice brought the everyone out of their revelry at once. The witch had hung back from the fight, thinking that the watery canine was more than enough to handle a couple of punks. Now, Morgana was running towards the Liquidator's statue, her green eyes wide with fear. She came up to the statue and faced the front of it, placing her hands against its chest.

"Bud! Buddy, no! You can't be..." She ended in a truly emotional whisper. Her hands clenched into fists as she laid her head on his chest. After a moment, she leaned up and gave the statue a small kiss. "Don't worry, sweet heart." She whispered softly. "I'll find a way to get you out."

"Morgana," Drake tried to talk to her in a soothing voice, "please listen to me."

The sorceress turned on the small duckling, her eyes glowing red again as she tore away from the statue. "Why, pray tell, should I listen to **you**, you wretched normal!" She waved an arm dismissively across her body, her hair flying wildly around her. "You and your little friends are the ones who did this to him!"

"We did that to him because we had to!" The shorter duck retorted. "Come on, Morgana, please wake up! Look what he was doing to St. Canard! Even worse, look what this scoundrel made you into! You never used to be like this! Now that he's gone, you have a chance to start over. You can go back to being who you were!"

"Fool!" Morgana screamed at him as she shot large streams of electricity at him, her body glowing with dark magic. Drake yelped in fear and barely managed to get away without becoming a roast duck. "Whoever said that I wanted to go back? When did I ever ask for your help? You think you and your friends can dictate my life to me? Tell the greatest witch in the world how to live?" Storm clouds began appearing on the ceiling on the museum, showering lightning bolts down on Quackerjack, Launchpad, Huey, Dewey, Louie and Drake, as they desperately tried to dodge the onslaught. "I will crush you like the insects that you are!"

"Ze 'greatest witch?'' Magica asked skeptically, her source absorber in her hand. "I always knew you were melodramatic dahlink, but this is too much!"

"Oh, I see you're still in denial, you old hag!" Morgana shot back as she launched a lightning bolt down where Magica was standing. She quickly disappeared, reappearing a few paces away from where she had been standing. A black scorch mark stood in its place.

"What the matter, Magica?" The tall witch taunted. "Have you forgotten all your counter spells? Or have you just realized that you're second rate magic is no match for mine?"

"Don't flatter yourself, you sorry excuse for a street performer. You're spells wouldn't be powerful enough to hurt an ant, much less me!"

"Is that so?" Morgana said nonchalantly, a sinister smile on her beak. "Not even—this one!"

Red sparks lit from her fingers, creating a stream of light that eventually converged into the form of a vampire bat. It quickly dove at Magica, who had not been expecting this particular spell and was not fast enough to dodge it. The bat hit her directly in the chest, forcing her to the floor. She rolled a little before finally resting on her stomach on the hard floor. The vampire bat landed on her back and took a bite out of her neck. She cried out in pain as the being began to glow blue with siphoned magic power.

"Magica!" Huey cried out in alarm. The nephews started to run towards her, but Drake and Launchpad, fearing what could happen to the children if they interfered, got in the way of their goal.

The short witch lifted her arm and used some of her remaining power to send a jarring spark of electricity through her fingers at the vampire bat. It squeaked at the shock and flitted its way into the air. Before it could return to its master with the stolen power. Magica sent a small fireball at it, which caught the bat off guard. The magical creature was engulfed in the blue fire, squeaked in pain once before completely disintegrating.

"So, what do you think of my magic now, you has been?" Morgana snickered as she watched the trembling duck get to her feet. Her legs were shaking with the effort after having her magic drained. "I must say, my skills really have improved. To make an already pathetic excuse for a witch even more pathetic really speaks to my magical prowess."

"You mean to your arrogance." Magica countered, gripping her secret weapon tightly. Morgana's green eyes suddenly widened with fear, realizing her mistake of taunting the other witch. It had given her time to enact her plan. "Such cheap parlor tricks are no match for the great Magica DeSpell!" The Italian sorceress said passionately as she a ray of light shot from her source absorber. The light hit Morgana in the chest and caused her to go rigid. Blue light enveloped her form, drawing her red colored magic away from her and towards Magica.

The drain continued with Morgana hanging in mid-air, screaming in rage and pain as her power was zapped away. Drake made a move to go towards the suffering witch, but Launchpad's grip stopped him. The pilot gave him an understanding look, but he firmly shook his head once and the shorter mallard looked at the floor. He brushed the hand off of him, but he made no move to help Morgana. Finally, her cries stopped and her head tilted forward as the red glow stopped coming from her body. The blue light faded and her limp form collapsed to the floor unconscious.

"Hmph. No one challenges me to a duel of magics without facing the consequences." Magica remarked proudly.

"Hooray!" The three nephews shouted together triumphantly. They jumped up and down, slapping hands. "The witch is dead! Nice going Magica!"

"Not dead, dahlinks," Magica corrected, basking in their praise. "Just drained and incapacitated. She will wake up again, but it will take her a while to recover."

"Are you okay, Magica?" Louie inquired, looking at her bleeding neck.

"Not to worry, little ones." Magica replied, her shaky breath revealing a bit of the pain she was in. She held up the source absorber to show them. "The magic I siphoned off that two bit sorceress should be enough to help me recover."

She gripped the instrument tightly, allowing the power to meld with her own. She used a little of it to heal her bleeding neck, closing the wound. Soon, the power she had absorbed made up for the amount she had lost to Morgana's spell and had brought her back to her magic levels back to normal.

While this was going on, Quackerjack took a quick glance at Morgana and nodded in satisfaction. _That's __three __down.__Everything's __going__ according __to __plan. __Now__ to __get __the __last __two,__get __the __gem__ and __get __out __of __here!_

"Okay, team let's go!" The clown shouted to the rest of the group and started to run off, but stopped when he realized that no one was following him. The triplets were still fussing over Magica, while Drake and Launchpad were standing by Morgana's fallen form. Pulling on his jester hat in frustration, he ran towards the short sweater wearing duck to remind him that time was of the essence.

"Morgana..." Drake whispered sadly as he looked down at her inert form.

A hand on his shoulder caught his attention. "I'm sorry, Drake, but she made her choice." Launchpad told him in a firm voice. "There isn't anything you can do about that."

"I guess you're right..." He said wistfully, gazing at her prone form one last time.

"Hey!" Quackerjack shouted waving his arms up and down wildly. "In case you've forgotten, Bulba's ran off with the Rogue's Gem." He pulled out Mr. Banana Brain, bouncing him up and down just as wildly. "This is no time to mope, you dope!"

Drake was about to get into an argument with the inanimate doll, but Launchpad cut him off. "He's right! What're we still standing here for? Let's go!"

"All right! Here we go!" Scrooge's three nephews said together, but Drake stopped the three young ducklings from following them.

"This is too dangerous for you three. Stay here with Magica! We'll be right back."

"Wait! Why do I have to play babysitter?" Magica demanded, but the Drake, Launchpad and Quackerjack had already sped off towards the second floor. They reached the stairs that Bulba and Mechavolt had ascended, climbing them two at a time. After a while, it was clear that Drake and Launchpad were getting a bit winded from the long climb. Quackerjack, the ever playful jester, was of course in tip top shape and was moving as quick as he could up the steps, leaving the other two several paces behind.

"Where is it?" They all heard the robotic bull bellow as they ran up the steps.

"Looks like we're not too late!" Drake said as he panted up the stairs.

"We will be at this rate!" Quackerjack said irritably. He activated his springs and jumped up the final length of the stairs. A few more bounces and he found himself staring at Taurus Bulba with Mechavolt standing a little behind him. The mechanical bull was steaming from the helmet, his eyes a deep red from his frustration. The jester's heart froze as he saw what the electrical rodent was holding in his hand. He held the green, glowing Rogue's Gem in his hand, looking between the stone and the bull as if in some kind of internal debate.

The toymaker's heart was in his throat as he saw the gem in the rodent's hand. He had to get it away from Mechavolt before Taurus Bulba noticed it. The raging bull, however, noticed the movements of the jester and straightened up in alarm.

"You? You meddling clown! What are **you** doing here? Don't tell me those idiots downstairs couldn't handle the likes of you?"

"What can I say? They just weren't up for playing my kind of games."

"Bahhh! Useless idiots!" Bulba growled, turning his red eyes to Mechavolt, who cowered at the attention. "What are you standing there for, you fool? Attack him!"

The clown's hopes rose a little bit as the crime lord seemed to overlook the green gem in the rodent's hand. His hopes were quickly dashed as he saw the bull's eyes widen in disbelief.

"You! What is that you've got there? Give it to me now!"

Mechavolt gulped as a large mechanical hand stretched out towards his own. Looking away from the bull, the electric rat handed over the gem he had been keeping to himself. Taurus Bulba's smirk became a triumphant grin as he realized that he had obtained his prize.

"Yes! This is the legendary Rogue's Gem! With its power, I will obtain the gizmo suit and the whole world with tremble at my feet!"

"NO!" Quackerjack screeched as he dove towards the mechanical bull. He would not let this happen! He had to get that jewel. Just as he was about to collide with the bull, one of his robotic arms extended, punching the unsuspecting clown in the stomach. He cried out in pain as he was flung backwards, somersaulting uncontrollably back through the air. For an instant, he saw Mechavolt's wide eyes on him with a look akin to horror on his face, before he did a belly flop on the hard floor. Completely winded, he lay there clutching his stomach in pain.

"Fool! No one gets in the way of Taurus Bulba's plans and lives to tell about it." The bull smirked at the glaring clown as he raised the Rogue's Gem high in the air. "Now, for my wish."

"Quackerjack," Launchpad called from the stairway as he ran towards the fallen duck. The toymaker looked at him and Drake only long enough to know that neither one of them were in a position to stop Bulba. He turned away from the sight of the burly duck and pressed his forehead to the floor in despair.

_ It's__over..._ Quackerjack closed his eyes and trembled at his own helplessness as he lay on the floor.

Suddenly, Bulba's triumphant laughter was cut short as it turned into a painful cry. Quackerjack's eyes shot open as he saw the green gem clatter to the floor, wondering what had happened. His beady black eyes caught sight of Mechavolt, steam coming from his gloved fingers, panting a little at the exertion.

_He __zapped__ Bulba! __I __don't __believe __it! __Why __would __he __do __that?_

His thoughts were cut off as he saw the green gem slip from Bulba's fingers and clatter to the floor.

"Quick! Somebody grab that jewel!" Quackerjack ordered, getting to his feet as fast as he could while ignoring the pain in his gut.

"RAAAAAAHHHHH!" The mechanical bull screamed in fury turning on Mechavolt. "How dare you, you pathetic little insect! Has you're fried out little brain forgotten who your master is? I'll kill you for your insolence, you worthless scum!"

Mechavolt backed away quickly, a look of true fear on his face. His thin fingers shook as the raging bull advanced upon him. The small rat tried to zap him again, but soon found his neck locked in a tight iron grip. He squirmed helplessly, his gloved hands clawing at the robotic hand, trying to free himself as his air supply cut off.

While the robotic crime lord was distracted with punishing his underling, Drake had run up to the forgotten Rogue's Gem and snatched it in his hand. "Got it!" He exclaimed happily. His happiness was short lived as he realized his outburst had caught the attention of Taurus Bulba, who's red eyes turned to him in blazing anger.

"Yikes!" Drake yelped as he tried to get away. Bulba, however, was too quick for him and snatched him by the neck with his free robotic hand. He lifted the struggling duck in the air, who gripped the gem tightly in one hand as he tried to loosen the bull's grip on him with the other.

"You **dare** touch what is mine?" Steam came out of the bull's nostrils as he stared down his opponent.

"I...didn't see...your name on...it, pal!" Drake retorted spiritedly as he tossed the jewel into the air. "Launchpad, catch!"

The short duck lobbed the jewel as best he could towards the pilot, who had to slide on his belly to catch the green gem. He got up and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Whew! Glad I didn't let this one crash."

"Why you insolent little bug!" Bulba hissed as he began crushing Drake's windpipe. "You and your little friends will pay dearly for your interference."

"Not when we're playing by my rules!" Quackerjack yelled, pulling an electric joy buzzer from his pocket, the same kind he'd used to zap the Liquidator. He jumped up right beside the bull and slammed it against his side. "You let them go!"

The strong shock from the joy buzzer overloaded the bull once more and stopped his functions momentarily. Mechavolt and Drake were released and both collapsed to the floor, breathing harshly. Launchpad moved to help Drake get away from the monstrous bull, while Quackerjack picked Mechavolt up and carried him a few feet away.

"Thanks..." Mechavolt wheezed out as he continued to catch his breath.

"I should be thanking you," Quackerjack replied with a grin on his beak. "Why would you do a crazy thing like defying Bulba anyway?"

"Well, I've never exactly been sane..." Mechavolt admitted with a similar grin. "As for why I did it,let's just say that if Bulba gets his way, there won't be anything left to rob."

"Mayhem for mayhem's sake, eh?" Quackerjack nodded, his bells ringing exuberantly. "I like it."

"I thought you might." Mechavolt spoke quietly. "You don't seem like other people. I know I've only met you once for a few minutes, but I felt like you and I were alike."

"Why, because we're both insane?" The jester asked gleefully, happy to see that some of Megavolt's personality was still in the new version of the rodent.

"Something like that." The mechanical rat replied before coughing a little.

A heavy creaking caught the toymaker's attention and he started as he realized the giant bull was on the move again. The laser gun on top of his head was whirring and it finally settled to target the unaware Launchpad, who was tending to the winded Drake.

"Launchpad, look out!" Quackerjack shouted as loudly as he could.

The pilot looked up just as the laser was shot in his direction. He pushed Drake out of the way, but he wasn't quick enough to avoid the blast itself. The laser cut across the top of the big duck's shoulder, burning off his clothes and feathers at that point. The Rogue's Gem sprung from his hand and clattered across the floor. He cried out in agony as he fell back, searing pain overwhelming his senses. His hand covered the wound, but it was clear that red blood was seeping through the white feathered fingers.

"Launchpad!" Drake and Quackerjack yelled at the same time. The colorfully clad duck was surprised at himself for feeling such anger for the pilot's injury. Not so long ago, he would have gleeful for any hurt that could be inflicted on Darkwing's dumb sidekick. Maybe it was because Launchpad had been the only real friend he had in the world he had wished for, but he found himself taking the injury very personally.

"You monster!" Drake said fiercely as he ran up to try to punch the bull in his large gut. The blow did little to effect the robotic menace as the villain merely chuckled and swatted the short duck to the side.

"Take this, you mean overgrown tin can!" The clown bellowed taking out a toy hammer. At the press of a button, it expanded into his patented giant whamo mallet. He swung the huge mallet at the bull's metal head as hard as he could, hoping to have some effect. A loud boink sound was all he got from the first hit as his enemy didn't even flinch at the attack. He tried again and again to whack the giant bull with no effect. Finally, Bulba grew tired of the game and grabbed the hammer by the handle. He lifted both Quackerjack and the hammer into the air before twirling them both over his head, letting them fly across the room. The jester hit the wall with a loud thud and slid to the ground in pain.

"Pathetic. Did any of you really think you were a match for the top notch technology of Taurus Bulba? I have no time to waste on a bunch of delusional fools, particularly costumes delusional fools." He sneered at Quackerjack as he said this. The jester stuck his tongue out at the bull in defiance.

"Time to get rid of the garbage." Taurus Bulba said in a voice that dripped with malice.

"Ze only thing we are getting rid of is you, you collection of scrap metal!" Bulba immediately turned to see Magica DeSpell appearing from a cloud of smoke. She raised her hands, her fingers sparking with energy. "Let's see how your metal fares against my magic!"

Her hands glowed blue for a few seconds before she unleashed a powerful stream of electrical power straight at the unsuspecting bull. The attack hit him dead center, as the lightning covered his whole body, blowing his circuits and sending him back into the wall. His body jerked wildly for a moment before steam blew out of his mechanical parts and he slumped to the floor in an overheated wreak. It was clear that Bulba's body was out of commission and he wouldn't be getting back up soon.

"Like I have always said, technology is overrated." Magica said as she dusted her hands smugly.

"Wow, Magica, nice shot!" Drake complimented. He was about to shake her head when she gave him a little zap in the behind.

"Yeowch!" He yelped as he jumped a little at the sudden shock. He rubbed his tail feathers in with a pout on his face. "What was that for?" he demanded.

"**That** was for leaving me behind to play babysitter when I should be up here fighting bull. No one treats Magica DeSpell like a common maiden and gets away with it."

Drake grumbled a half-hearted apology and headed over to where Launchpad was to check on the wounded pilot. Quackerjack, in the meantime, was scouring the floor for the missing Rogue's Gem. He finally spotted it a few paces away from where Magica was standing. He was about to creep towards the gem, hoping that his presence would go unnoticed long enough for him to snag the gem for himself, when he noticed that Mechavolt was acting a little strangely. His hands were to his ears and he was shaking his head back and forth vehemently. He looked as though he was having an internal argument with something.

_Wonder__ what's__ wrong__ with __him?_ Quackerjack thought as he watched the rodent look more frustrated and frightened. _I__ know__ Megavolt__ used __to __get __into__ fights __with __inanimate__ objects, __but __he __never __got __into __fights __with __himself.__ Maybe__ this__ is__ a__ quirk__ that__ this__ new__ version__ of__ Megavolt __has...?_

A nagging feeling kept telling the jester that his assumption was incorrect and he watched as the rodent finally took his hands off his ears. The mechanical rat began to move clumsily forward, dragging his feet as if something was forcing him to walk.

"Mechavolt?" Quackerjack tried to call out to the rat as he started going towards the others, but he was cut off by Magica's victorious cry.

"Aha! Here is the gem we have been looking for!" The witch picked up the Rogue's gem and held it up in her hand. "With this in our possession and Bulba knocked out for good, I think we can safely say, 'Mission Acco—Ahhhh!"

Mechavolt had raised his hands to send a powerful surge of voltage at the unsuspecting witch. It hit her dead on and flung her across the floor, the gem clattering away from her as she released it. Magica twitched once, tried to get back up, but then fainted from the shock.

"Magica!" Drake cried out in alarm. He turned around to face the assailant, rolling up his sleeves as he walked towards the rodent. "I should have known you were up to something when you zapped Bulba, you conniving criminal! You won't get away with it, you nefarious nitwit! This is for St. Canard high school!"

The short mallard charged Mechavolt with his fists balled, intending to pummel the electric rat. Mechavolt's arms seem to raise of their own accord and he closed his eyes as his fingers began glowing a sinister blue. Another vast charge of electricity was sent at Drake, who tried to jump away from the blast. It was too large for him to dodge and he ended up being engulfed in the blast of electricity. He cried out in pain for a few seconds before unconsciousness took him. He collapsed to the floor, steam coming from his feathers.

"Dr-Drake!" A weak Launchpad called out, trying to get to his feet. He managed to do so very slowly, then limped towards Mechavolt with one fist balled. Though the pilot was trying his best to look intimidating, he only managed to look pitiful. "Leave—leave him alone!" Launchpad wheezed out in the biggest voice he could muster.

Again, shaking hands were raised and pointed towards the slowly advancing duck. The rodent gritted his teeth and shook his head a little before a small burst of energy came from his fingers. Quackerjack sucked in his breath as he watched the shock wave hit the injured pilot. It was only a tiny bit of electric energy compared to the other blasts he had let off, but it was enough to subdue the wounded Launchpad. One short cry was all he managed to give before he fell forward and passed out.

Mechavolt eyed his handiwork with no look of joy on his face as he stiffly started to move towards the discarded Rogue's Gem. Quackerjack quickly ran over to the pilot to check his pulse. Seeing that he was still breathing and that his heart was still beating, he left Launchpad and ran towards the slow moving rodent to block his path.

"Hey!" Quackerjack shouted as he jumped into the air and landed right in front of the villain. "Hold on there, pal 'o mine! Why did you zap Launchpad and the others like some kind of big meanie? I thought you were helping us!" He pulled Mr. Banana Brain to add his two cents to the matter. "What's the deal, Steel?"

The electrical rodent said nothing, though his mouth was opening and closing with no sound coming out. Abruptly, one of his arms shot up and hit Quackerjack in the side hard. He fell to the floor and rolled a little before he bounced back to his feet.

"Well somebody doesn't play fair." The jester muttered, still very confused by the behavior change he was seeing. "That wasn't very nice, Bryce." Mr. Banana Brain added as he was bounced back and forth.

All of Quackerjack's feelings were replaced with those of dread as he watched the silent rat pick up the green gem and grip it tightly in his hand. The jester hastily got to his feet and ran towards Mechavolt as fast as he could.

"Hey! That's mine!" The clown whined as pathetically as he could. "Give it back!"

"Yours?" An deep, angry bellow filled the room causing Quackerjack to skid to a stop. He recognized the voice immediately, but it was coming from Mechavolt's vicinity. "You mean **mine**! What could a worthless, costumed clown want with "The Rogue's Gem?"

"What? But..." The toymaker questioned in confusion and fear. The voice came from Mechavolt and yet the rat hadn't opened his mouth once. "Taurus Bulba? How...?"

Mechavolt grimaced, a look of pain on his face as a peal of laughter came from the vicinity of the rodent's right arm. He shut his eyes again as his right arm was raised slowly upwards to reveal a small screen in his metallic arm. On the screen was the face of the very angry bull, Taurus Bulba, gracing the jester with a particularly nasty grin.

"How, you ask? Why it's quite simple. After my fight with Gizmoduck, my body was badly damaged. I managed to fly away to safety, but I was in desperate need of repair. As my body failed, I discovered that I could send my consciousness into other mechanical forms. I traveled through different machines until I found one that could suit my purposes. Namely, this simpering, brain dead rat Mechavolt."

He smirked up at said rat who was now gritting his teeth angrily as the explanation went on. "It didn't take me long to overcome the will of this feeble being and move his body as if it were my own. After all, if he didn't listen to me, I found ways to _punish_ him."

Mechavolt shuddered at the word as Bulba's nasty grin widened. "Once he was properly subdued, I brought him back to fix my battered body. When that was finished, I had him recover the gizmo suit for me. It was damaged, but I knew that he could fix it up so that I could use it." At this point, the bull frowned and his eyes narrowed. "Unfortunately, the suit was programmed with a defect that was unable to be remedied. It could only be used by a flesh and blood body and thus it didn't recognize me as a living thing.

"I was beyond frustrated at this little caveat, but then my brilliant mind came up with a solution. I did a little research into the black arts and came across a story of a gem stone that would grant wishes to those of ill-intent. After learning of this stone, I scoured the world to find it's location, finally finding it in a museum in the Far East. I _persuaded_ the exhibitors to bring it to St. Canard so that I could have it. Of course, they could not refuse me."

While the crime lord continued talking, Quackerjack was desperately thinking of any way to get the Rogue's Gem away from Bulba. Searching his large pockets, the jester finally touched something that could help him. He gripped it tightly in his hands, waiting for an opportunity.

"Now, if you are done interfering, it is time for me to use the gem and make my wish." He raised Mechavolt's arm and cackled triumphantly as he stared up at the green gem. "The world will soon be mine!"

"Bap! Bap! Wrong!" Quackerjack shouted as he pulled out a tiny squirt gun. It only had a little water in it, but he hoped it would be enough. "Game over Bulba!"

He squirted a dose of water onto Mechavolt, who jerked and then convulsed as he started to short out. As his body convulsed, he lost his grip on the Rogue's gem, which clattered to the floor. Quackerjack slid across the floor, grabbed the gem, then hopped to his feet with a whoop.

"All right!" He said happily, dancing in place.

"I wouldn't celebrate just yet, you meddling fool!" Bulba's harsh tone made him look at where Mechavolt was standing and he froze. The electric rat had pulled out his zapper gun, only this one was jet black with more gizmos attached and looked ten times more deadly. The gun was aimed straight at the jester's heart.

"I think you've been a nuisance to me for long enough." Taurus Bulba hissed, his red eyes blazing. "It's time for you to die!"

Quackerjack heart froze as he saw Mechavolt pulling the trigger. He felt numb, not believing that everything was going to end like this. He waited for the blow to strike and for his heart to give out, but it never came. The jester watched as the rodent eyed the duck with his teeth grit and his arm shaking violently.

"No..." Mechavolt whispered fiercely.

"What are you waiting for, you sorry excuse for a living thing. Finish him now! I command you!"

"No!" Mechavolt shouted turning the gun slowly towards his right arm. "I am **not** your slave and I will not be controlled anymore! TAKE THIS!"

The mechanical rat fired the gun at his right arm, directly at the screen that Taurus Bulba was on. A burst of white hot energy came from the gun and hit the connective parts of his mechanical arm. He and Taurus Bulba screamed simultaneously at the blow as his mechanical arm fell apart. As the blast ended, metal parts clanked uselessly to the floor and Mechavolt collapsed with them. Blood was leaking from the remains of his organic arm.

"Mechavolt!" Quackerjack screeched in shock as he came to the side of the injured rodent. He pulled down on the ends of his hat in fear."I know you're crazy, but how could you blast yourself like that? Even **I** wouldn't have done that."

Mechavolt smiled weakly up at the toymaker, breathing harshly. "No...choice...really...Now, hurry...Bu-Bulba, he...he could...come back...Hurry, please!"

The earnest look in the eyes of the rat told Quackerjack just how much the rodent had suffered being Taurus Bulba's slave. How he hadn't had much choice in being part of his villainous team. The smile on his tired face also told the jester that they were friends, even if they had known each other for such a short time. Quackerjack heart warmed at how his friendship with that rat had still survived his wish. He stood up and smiled at the other villain as he raised the gem high.

"Thank you." Quackerjack said simply, giving Mechavolt his best buck toothed grin. Then, gripping the Rogue's Gem tightly, he threw the gem as hard as he could against the floor. It shattered on impact and a flash of light enveloped the jester, clouding his senses.

* * *

Quackerjack suddenly felt very dizzy and his vision was quite blurry. He rubbed his arm across his eyes, willing his disorientation to leave him as he tried to remain on his feet. He attempted to open his eyes when he heard someone speaking in a sardonic voice just a few feet away.

"Great going, Chuckles. You broke your new toy."

When his vision came into focus, he saw small pieces of the green Rogue's gem scattered on the floor. Then, he looked up and recognized the purple outfit with the teal turtleneck. A familiar gas gun was pointed in his direction and the self-proclaimed terror that flaps in the night had an irritated expression on his face as he stared down the jester.

"Darkwing Duck? Is that you?" He questioned hesitantly, blinking his eyes. He almost couldn't believe it was real.

"What, are you having a memory lapse or something Quacky?" Darkwing responded with a look of suspicion at the question. "I think you've been spending too much time with Megavolt."

"Darkwing Duck! It's really you!" Quackerjack exclaimed before doing a flip for joy at seeing his old enemy again. He ran up to the duck, gripped the end of his gas gun and shook it up and down as fast as he could in the form of a handshake. "It's great to see you again!"

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, what do you think you're doing?" Darkwing protested as he pulled his gas gun away. He pulled out a cloth to clean the fingerprints off the gun as he eyed the villain suspiciously. "What are you up to, you treacherous toymaker?"

"Gee, DW, he seemed sincerely happy to see you. Or at least, that's what it looked like to me." Launchpad said as he walked up to the disconcerted hero.

"Launchpad!" Quackerjack said jubilantly. He was glad to see that the sidekick was looking just like his old self again.

"Launchpad, you're not helping." Darkwing told him grumpily as he raised his gas gun again. "Now, I'll ask you one more time, you conniving clown. What are you up to?"

Quackerjack was about to answer, when a familiar voice stopped him short.

"He's committing crimes, what does it look like, Dipwing?" Megavolt spoke dryly, raising his sparking fingers.

"Are you confused by the obvious? Need a minute to clear your head? Then, the Liquidator suggests that you flee for the nearest exit before he and his associates knock some sense into you."

"Yeah, we're ready for you, Dorkwing." Bushroot added meekly, though he seemed less ready to fight than the other two.

"Guys!" The jester jumped for joy at the sight of his old partners in crime, looking just as they always had.

"Uh, yeah, hi Quacky." Megavolt told him slowly, clearly wondering why his partner in crime was looking so happy to see them. The electric rodent pushed aside the abnormal behavior as he stared down Darkwing, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. "All right guys, let's roast some duck!"

The group was about to advance on the crime fighter and his sidekick when Quackerjack somersaulted in the air and landed in front of them. They stopped abruptly as the clown put both of his hands out and shook his head back and forth adamantly.

"Now, now, there's really no need for that, is there?"

Without waiting for a response, Quackerjack cartwheeled over to Darkwing and put an arm around his shoulders. He firmly grasped the little duck in his arms and steered him towards the elevators. Darkwing struggled in his grasp, trying to get free while trying to figure out what the mad duck was up to.

"Don't worry, Darkwing. We won't trouble you anymore tonight."

"What are you talking about, you mad menace?" Darkwing queried suspiciously as the jester pushed the down button on the elevator panel.

"I mean, that me and my friends aren't going to do any more crimes tonight. We're going to relax and take it easy, which is **exactly** what you should do!"

The doors of the elevator opened and Quackerjack quickly shoved Darkwing inside of it. He saw Launchpad standing behind him and he made a gesture for the sidekick to join the hero. Launchpad scratched his head at the gesture, but proceeded to get into the elevator with Darkwing. Quackerjack then took the masked mallard's hand and shook it vehemently.

"Now, remember to get plenty of rest, eat your vegetables, and stay out of any and all life-threatening situations. We wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you."

"Uh, sure..." Darkwing said, now looking at the other duck as if he was sure one duck had just flown over the cuckoo's nest.

"Good night Darkwing Duck." Quackerjack told him with a big grin. "You too, Launchpad. Take care of yourselves, okay."

"Sure thing. Thanks Quacky." Launchpad responded cheerfully with a big dopy grin on his face. Darkwing just put his head in his hand and shook it. He looked up just in time to see the elevator door closing and tried to stop it, but couldn't reach it in time. His protests could be heard all the way back down to the first floor of the museum.

"And that is that." The colorfully clad duck said with a clap of his hands. His eyes wandered back to his partners in crime, who were now collectively giving him a look that said they thought he had gone madder than usual.

"Um, Quackerjack, are you sure you didn't hit your head or something?" Bushroot asked in a small, hesitant voice. "You do know that was Darkwing Duck, right?"

"Of course I do, silly." Quackerjack said with a grin and a whimsical shake of his bells. "Even heroes should take a holiday off now and then, don't you think?"

"I guess..." The green duck said, though he didn't sound entirely convinced.

"Jewel appraisers would like to inform you that the value on this particular stone has just hit rock bottom." Liquidator informed him in his familiar salesman tone.

"Oh, that old thing?" The clown inquired with a dangerous glint in his eyes. "I almost forgot about it. Almost." The jester said as he went to stand beside it.

"Hmm, maybe I have some glue in my apartment that can put it back together." Megavolt thought aloud, knowing the other duck had really wanted the gem. Thus, his eyes widened as the crazed mallard took out a giant hammer and began smashing the shards into a fine powder. All three villains watched the scene with growing concern for the clown's remaining sanity.

When he was finished, Quackerjack heaved a satisfied sigh and put the hammer back into his pocket. He turned to his fellow villains and chuckled at the dumbfounded expressions they were gracing him with.

"Quackerjack, what is wrong with you?" Megavolt demanded, his hands on his hips.

"Nothing at all, Megs!" He ran up to the electric rodent and gave him a big hug. Megavolt squirmed a little in his arms as the duck continued to hug him. "Everything's perfect."

"Even without your magical, world changing wish?" Liquidator wanted to know, with a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"All polls show that you've come to the right conclusion!" Quackerjack retorted with a friendly grin. He let go of Megavolt and pulled the wet dog into the best hug he could manage. The liquid canine seemed to appreciate the gesture even less than Megavolt did and gave the jester an uncomfortable look. "All sales are final on that one."

"Quackerjack, are you **sure** you're all right?" The plant duck questioned, wringing his leaves together at the unwarranted displays of affection.

"I'm perfectly fine. You worry too much, Bushy." Quackerjack told the mutant duck in mock exasperation before pulling him into a tight hug. He leaned up to one of the duck's ears and whispered, "Don't ever change, okay?"

"Okay..." Bushroot muttered, rubbing the back of his head as the jester finally released him.

"You guys got everything you wanted from the museum?" The other three villains nodded and Quackerjack began steering them towards the exits. "Great, then let's have some fun!"

"What kind of fun?" Megavolt questioned with a suspicious look on his face.

"Halloween fun, silly." The jester chuckled as he thought of the possibilities. "We can play pranks on people, go on carnival rides, eat lots of sugary candy and all without the worry of being screamed at or chased away. Halloween is the night for out of the ordinary people like ourselves, wouldn't you say?"

"The Liquidator guesses that eight out of ten news analysts would agree with that statement." The aqua dog told him with a hand under his chin.

"Well, I guess if we won't scare the populace then, I'm in." Bushroot agreed with a shrug.

"What about you, Megs?" The toymaker asked.

"Why not?" Megavolt said nonchalantly, thinking he had nothing better to do.

"Then, what are we waiting for? Last one out of this boring museum is a rotten egg!"

With that, Quackerjack sped off with the others chasing him. The Fearsome Four spent the night out and about St. Canard, without causing the city loads of trouble for once. They four villains played a few jokes on the ordinary citizens here and there, but mostly everything they did for the rest of the evening was just good-natured fun. Quackerjack and the others enjoyed each others company until the early hours of the morning, then said their farewells.

As Quackerjack lay down on his bed to get some much needed rest, he thought over the wish he had made and all that had followed after. For a moment, he wondered if the entire horrible event had been some kind of dream or if he had just imagined it all. As he rolled onto his side, he felt something press against his large, puffy pockets. Annoyed, he reached inside of them to pull out the nuisance and found himself staring at the dolls he had made of Megavolt, Bushroot and Liquidator.

Sitting up in surprise at still having the dolls, he smiled at the images of his partners in crime. He placed the likenesses of his friends on a nearby table facing the bed and laid back down again. He yawned and closed his eyes, thinking of the world without Darkwing.

_So ,__he __really __makes __that __much __of __a __difference,__eh?__Who__ would __have __thought __that __purple__ pest __actually __has __his __uses. __I __guess__ I'll __have __to __be __a __little __nicer __to __Darkwing __from __now __on._Quackerjack smirked as he curled up under the covers, feeling sleep drawing him into its grasp. _But __only __a __little..._

* * *

Author's Note: It's finally finished! Hooray! I think maybe this should have been two chapters as it is quite long, but oh well. I wanted to finish this story and I did. I'll admit, for a while, I wasn't sure if I'd ever finish this one. I had an idea from the start about how I wanted it to end, but it took a lot out of me to write it. Thanks to everyone who stayed with it and reviewed thus far. Your kind words and encouragement really helped me finish this story up. I hope you enjoyed this ending! I tried to make it as action packed and entertaining as possible. I hope I succeeded.

Now for some story notes. Just for the record, I always intended to make Bulba the main threat behind St. Canard's new villainous team and I also wanted it to be him who would find the Rogue's gem and try to use it on himself. I always intended him to use the Rogue's Gem to make himself human again. I decided to tie in the Boom! storyline about the gizmo suit as it seemed to give his reasoning for wanting to be mortal again more weight. Also, I'd just like to say that I really love Taurus Bulba as a character. He's such a threatening villain and I was happy to be able to write him here.

I also wanted to note that in chapter three, Mechavolt was talking to Bulba on the small TV screen in his arm. However, Bulba had vanished when Quackerjack had started talking to him, so Bulba was not aware of their conversation. Mechavolt covered his arm to protect Quakerjack just in case Bulba tried to pop back in and give more instructions.

The Morgana that I've written for this story was based off of the character Bellatrix LeStrange from Harry Potter. I modeled her attitude and dress for this story off of that character.

Other than that, I guess all I can say is, once again, thanks for reading! I'd appreciate any feedback you can leave me on the story. :)


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